


Snapdragon

by Sabulana



Series: The Language of Flowers [3]
Category: Gotham - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-01 09:02:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11483079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sabulana/pseuds/Sabulana
Summary: Jim finds out Oswald is still involved with the mob in what may be the worst way possible.One of Oswald's rivals for the control of Gotham's underworld senses weakness and takes Jim as a bargaining chip. Too bad he didn't learn what happens when you hurt the people Oswald loves.But the damage is done, and now Oswald doesn't know if his relationship with Jim can survive this trial, though he'll settle for Jim surviving at all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> When I started Floriography, I wanted Oswald to still be the murderous gangster we all know and love. It didn't come up much in Floriography, but since this became a series, it was obviously going to come out sooner or later. I wasn't going to write it as soon as I have, but then [TheBelovedPanda](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBelovedPanda) sent me an ask over on tumblr asking what would happen if Jim saw the dark side of Oswald.
> 
> So here it is.
> 
> This is set about a month or so after Floriography and Crocus. :)
> 
> Beta'd by [thekeyholder](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thekeyholder)

Oswald hovered impatiently in the front hall. He had started in the dining room, where he, Edward and Isabella were supposed to be having dinner with Jim, but after the first hour had passed, he had moved. 

There was no answer on Jim’s phone either. It would ring and ring and then the voicemail would pick up. Oswald had left several messages, trying not to come off as clingy and overly worried, but he couldn't help remembering the last time he had been stood up like this. He tried to tell himself, and believe Ed and Isabella when they said as well, that Jim would never do something like that. 

But still, there were the nagging doubts, that perhaps some pretty woman had perhaps come into the shop and stolen Jim's heart with a gentle smile or bumped into him at the coffee shop and won him over with a flutter of her eyelashes. Most of Jim's previous partners had been women. It wasn't hard to believe that perhaps he missed their softer curves and gentler ways. How could Oswald compare?

“Should I call the police?” Oswald muttered. Not that they had been any help when Edward had abandoned him for twelve hours to be with Isabella. Oswald was trying not to be bitter over that now, since it had led him to meet Jim, but the thought of being so easily left behind stung. 

“It's been an hour and a half. They won't do anything,” Edward advised him, though he seemed tense as well. 

It had been that kind of day. Councillors had been argumentative, other ‘business associates’ had been overly demanding, there had been traffic jams and clumsy assistants scattering papers everywhere, cold tea after the machine broke unexpectedly and now Jim was late. 

“Maybe I should call him again,” Oswald said. “Perhaps he didn't hear his phone ringing before?”

“Why don't you try Selina or Ivy?” Isabella suggested. “Maybe they'll know something?”

“Excellent idea.” Edward kissed her on the cheek.

Oswald turned away to hide the way he rolled his eyes, but he pulled up Selina's number anyway. “Selina, I don’t suppose you have any idea where Jim is, do you? He’s late.” 

“Not a clue,” Selina replied, puzzled. “I think he went to the greenhouses after closing the store, though, to get some flowers for you. I’ll call Ivy and see if she knows anything.” 

“Okay. Thank you,” Oswald replied, fear clawing its way up his throat. He hung up and turned to Edward and Isabella. “Selina doesn’t know where he is, but she’s going to call Ivy,” he said.

“I'm sure there's a good reason he's late,” Isabella said reassuringly. 

Oswald forced a smile, then whirled back to face the window. “I should have sent Gabe to get him.”

But Jim didn't always agree to that. Jim objected to a lot of the ways Oswald wanted to spoil him, saying it wasn't necessary. So Oswald grudgingly let him keep paying for cabs to come over to the mansion sometimes and chip in on dates. Now he wished he had insisted on Gabe picking him up on this night. At least then he would know where Jim was.

His phone chimed with a text from Selina.

“Ivy doesn't know where he is either. Selina's going to Jim's apartment to look for him,” Oswald said. He scowled at his phone as though it was to blame for all his problems.

“I'm sure there's a good reason he's late,” Isabella said, but even she had worry creeping into her voice.

-

It was nearly half an hour before they had another update from Selina. By that time, Edward and Isabella had persuaded Oswald to sit with them in the parlour and eat something. Their dinner had gone cold, but by this point, none of them cared. Oswald’s worry for Jim’s whereabouts had everyone feeling anxious, including the staff. 

When Selina finally called back, Oswald answered his phone on the first ring. 

“Selina?”

“It's not looking good,” Selina said. “Jim's not here and the place is wrecked.”

“Wrecked?” Oswald froze, eyes wide and anxious.

“Someone's been in, smashed stuff up,” Selina explained. “There’s no sign of them, or Jim but… there’s blood on what’s left of the coffee table.”

Oswald froze, utterly still. “You're sure it's blood?” He was only half aware of Isabella’s startled gasp, and Edward’s attempt to reassure her.

“Red. Sticky. I know what blood looks like, Penguin, and that's definitely not raspberry jam over there.” 

Oswald gripped his phone tighter. “How much blood?” he asked sharply.

“Not much, just a little. There’s only a few spots leading back to the door,” Selina replied. “I don’t think it was a serious injury.”

Well, that was something positive, at least if it was Jim’s blood. It could easily enough have been from whoever trashed the apartment. 

“What’s happened?” Edward asked, pulling Oswald’s attention back from the phone conversation. 

“Jim is gone, and his apartment is a mess. Selina says there’s blood,” Oswald explained quickly. He felt suddenly sick at the thought of anything happening to Jim. 

“Oh no,” Isabella gasped quietly.

“Let me talk to Selina,” Edward said, holding out his hand for the phone. Oswald could practically see his mind working, going over possibilities and coming up with plans and solutions already.

Oswald handed his phone over without a complaint. He was white as a sheet, and didn’t have it in him to protest when Isabella gently led him to the sofa to sit down. 

“Oswald, don’t worry. I’m sure everything will be fine,” she murmured, taking his hands in hers. 

She tried to smile, but Oswald wasn’t in the mood for empty sentiments. He tugged his hands back and turned away, scowling. “You don’t know that,” he snapped.

Across the room, Edward was giving instructions to Selina. 

“Selina, this is Edward Nygma. I need you to not touch anything else in the apartment. Go out to the corridor and call the police. Explain that someone has broken into Jim’s apartment and that Jim is missing. Get them to come as soon as possible. I’m going to come over as well. I used to work in forensics, so I’ll make sure they don’t miss anything. I'll find the answers we need,” Edward said. There was a pause as he listened to Selina’s reply, then he hung up the phone. “Selina is going to call the police, then Ivy to let her know what’s going on. I’m heading over to Jim’s apartment. I’ll need you two-”

“I’m coming with you,” Oswald said immediately.

“Oswald-” Edward began.

“Don't argue with me, Ed. If Jim is in danger, if he's hurt, then I cannot sit around at home doing nothing.” Oswald stood up, leaning heavily on his cane as he glared at Edward. After a moment, his gaze turned pleading. “Please, Ed, I need to do something.”

“I was going to ask you and Isabella to call around the hospitals,” Edward said.

“I can manage that on my own,” Isabella said. “I think Oswald should go with you. If I find anything out, I'll call you right away.”

Edward nodded. “Alright,” he said, giving in.

Oswald smiled victoriously, feeling like he could have hugged Isabella for siding with him. He didn't, though. He still wasn't fond of her, even if he was getting used to her continued presence.

While Edward helped Isabella find the numbers for each of the hospitals in Gotham, Oswald called for Gabe to drive them to Jim’s apartment. 

-

Jim woke up with an aching head and sore ribs. It took him a moment to remember what had happened, and realise that he was no longer in his apartment.

Not long after he’d returned home from Poison Ivy, there had been a knock at his door. When Jim had opened the door, he’d found it slammed back into him and from there it had been a bit of a blur. There had been several men, maybe five or six, charging into his apartment and though Jim had tried to fight back, they’d overpowered him. He’d fallen backwards over the coffee table and then… that was all he could recall.

Jim could feel that one of his eyes was swollen ‒ he probably had one hell of a shiner ‒ but when he tried to move his hand to delicately prod it, he realised his hands were bound together with a zip tie. 

“Fuck…”

There wasn't much light to see by, and no way of telling what time it was. There was a small window in the door, but it was filthy with grime.

The room was bare of anything else, as far as Jim could see. All he could do now was wait for someone to realise he was awake. Then maybe he could find out what was going on. 

Stiffly, he tried to sit up, aching muscles protesting against the movement after lying on the floor in such an uncomfortable position.He tried to think. 

Did Oswald know he was missing yet? Was he still waiting at the mansion or did he think Jim had stood him up? He hoped Oswald knew he would never do that, but for all the confidence he showed, Jim knew Oswald still had his insecurities. 

It wasn’t too long before there were footsteps outside. The light was blocked by a shadowy face peering through the small window, and then the door swung open.

“Hello, Jim. I can call you Jim, can't I?” 

Jim didn't recognise the man in front of him. He was broad shouldered, tall and wore a suit, but the lack of light meant Jim couldn't make out much else. 

“I suppose you're wondering who I am, why you're here and so on. Well, you'll find out eventually. Right now, I have questions for you,” the man continued.

There was movement outside the door. Guards, Jim supposed, not that he could fight his way out at the moment.

“What? I think you’ve got the wrong man,” Jim said. “I’m just a florist, that’s all.”

His kidnapper grasped him firmly by the chin, forcing Jim to look directly at him. “I suggest you decide to be a bit more cooperative,” the man said. “Things will go easier for you. It might even ensure we deliver you back to your boyfriend unharmed. Or, well, alive, at any rate.”

Oswald? This was about Oswald? Jim looked up at his captor, frowning in confusion.

“Ah, I see the penny drops. Yes, this is about our illustrious Mayor Cobblepot. You see, he's being rather stubborn about accepting a deal with me. So I thought I would make the decision easier for him,” the man explained. “And it would be rather remiss of me not to take the opportunity to get to know you at the same time.”

Jim didn't like his tone. He sounded far too smug. “I'm a florist,” he repeated. “It's really not that thrilling.”

“Oh, I'm sure there's plenty of interesting things you can tell me, Jim, such as what you know about your boyfriend’s business dealings, for example,” the man said. He laughed at Jim’s confused look.

“He’s the mayor. He does mayor things,” Jim said, deliberately vague, though he suspected that Oswald’s mayoral duties weren’t what his kidnapper was referring to. 

“I think you know more than you’re letting on, but you know what? I’m going to be nice for now. You have a good, long think about what you want to tell me. I’ll be back later.” The man straightened up and strode out of the door. 

Jim tried to take in as many details as he could during the brief moment of light. He saw dark hair, and not much else. Then the door was slammed shut, leaving him in near darkness again.

-

The GCPD had made their way to Jim’s apartment by the time Oswald and Edward arrived. Selina was still there, being questioned by a uniformed officer outside the apartment. She looked over when they arrived, but only offered a nod of greeting.

“Wait here. I'm going to see what I can find out,” Edward said to Oswald. He headed straight for the open apartment door. 

Oswald ignored him and followed only a couple of steps behind. He had to see what damage had been done for himself.

What Oswald saw filled him with anger. Since the first night he spent with Jim, they had shared many nights together in his apartment, and he was furious that someone had come and ruined somewhere that had special meaning to them both. 

Oswald could see the sofa where they had curled up together had been overturned, the coffee table smashed to pieces. Photos of them taken by Isabella or Ivy and Selina had been cracked and strewn about the floor. Jim had had to be talked into displaying those, not out of shame, but because he was unused to having personal possessions on show. Oswald still wasn't sure what was said to convince Jim to have their pictures framed, but he had been filled with affection every time he had seen them, because it showed everyone that came over that Jim loved him.

Not that Jim had many visitors, but it still made Oswald feel special. The only other picture Jim had on display was one of Jim himself, Ivy and Selina together at the opening of Poison Ivy. 

“What are you doing here, Nygma?” 

Oswald recognised Detective Bullock from his previous dealings with the GCPD, and couldn't say that he was happy to see him. Neither was Ed, despite the smile on his face.

“I thought it best if I came to oversee your investigation into this personally,” Edward replied. He stepped carefully over the debris to pick up the cracked photo of Jim and Oswald. “After all, we have a personal interest in this.”

Bullock took the photo and swore. “No. No freakin’ way.” He looked from the photo to Edward, then around to Oswald. “I don't believe it. You and Jim Gordon?”

Oswald bristled with indignation. “What is that supposed to mean, Detective Bullock?”

“Firstly, that's Captain Bullock to you-”

“Acting captain!” Oswald interrupted.

“And secondly, I remember Jim Gordon when he was in the GCPD. I was his partner for all of two minutes back before he got his dumb ass self fired, and he got fired because he wouldn't play along with scumbags like you. The Jim Gordon I knew would never willingly associate with a known murderer and mob boss like you, nevermind date you.”

Oswald went utterly still. “Perhaps you never knew him as well as you thought,” he said icily. “Find Jim Gordon, Captain Bullock. By any means necessary.”

He turned away, slamming his cane into the floor as he went. After he had gone a couple of paces, he turned back.

“And you will let Edward assist in any manner he deems necessary,” he added, with a smirk.

Bullock scowled. “Fine. But if I catch him covering up any evidence, I'm arresting you both.”

-

The police officer was done interrogating Selina and had told her she was free to go, but she stuck around anyway. When Oswald hurried out of Jim’s apartment, she fell into step beside him. He glanced at her quizzically, but she shook her head ‒ not here, not where the GCPD could overhear. 

Selina waited until they were outside, standing by Oswald’s car before she said anything.

“I called Ivy while I was waiting for the GCPD. We want to help,” she said.

“You’re a thief ‒ an ex-thief, at that. Are you still going to be useful to me?” Oswald asked.

Selina smirked. “I’m… not quite the ‘ex-thief’ Jim wishes I was,” she admitted. “And Ivy has her talents too. You should see what she can do with her perfumes.”

Oswald gave her a confused look. “I thought she grew plants. What’s perfume got to do with anything?”

“She does grow plants. The ones in the greenhouses are for selling, but the ones in her apartment, she uses to make perfumes ‒ special ones.” Selina could tell Oswald still felt skeptical. “Tell you what, we’ll come by the mansion tomorrow and give you a demonstration. Then you can decide for yourself if we help you or if we work alone.”

Oswald snorted. “The two of you can’t possibly think you’d be any good on your own. You both gave up your mob connections when you went straight,” he said. “Straight-ish, anyway,” he said, recalling Selina’s words about not being an ex-thief. 

“That doesn’t matter,” Selina said. “Jim is our brother. We won’t sit back and do nothing while he’s in danger. So we’ll show you what we can do, and you can let us in on whatever you find out, or we’ll work alone.”

“Fine,” Oswald said, after a moment. “Tomorrow morning, at the mansion. If I find anything out in the meantime, I will let you know and I hope you’ll do me the courtesy of informing me of any new developments you may uncover.”

Selina smiled. “Of course,” she said. She felt daring for a moment, and put her hands on his shoulders in a reassuring gesture. “Jim loves you, and I know you love him. If things work out between you in the long term, I guess you’ll be my brother too one day.”

Oswald let out a little gasp, and his eyes looked a little wet, but Selina wisely didn’t call attention to that. If she had to guess, he felt rather touched by that admission, as though it hadn’t occurred to him that they could be honorary family to each other one day.

“Well, we’d better find Jim quickly so we can see if that will be the case,” he replied.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Selina said. “See ya.” She turned and left, ducking into the alley beside Jim’s apartment building to climb the fire escape to the roof. Even now, she still preferred travelling over the roofs and through secret places to navigate the city. 

Jim worried that one day she would fall, or run into some kind of trouble, but Selina trusted her instincts and her abilities. She’d survived childhood on the streets, spent years running the rooftops, jumping the gaps between buildings with all the grace of the cats she was nicknamed for. When she’d met with Jim and decided to work with him and Ivy in Poison Ivy, and got her own little apartment, Selina had left behind the people who knew her as Cat, but she hadn’t lost her love of the rooftops of Gotham. 

It didn’t take her long to get to Ivy’s apartment building. It was easy to tell which one was where she lived from the rooftop, because she’d convinced the landlord to let her have a roof garden. It was the only apartment building in the area with an abundance of plants covering most of it, hanging over the edge of the building in some places. Other sections of the edge had been kept clear specifically for Selina to come and go without using the entrance on the ground. It was a peaceful place, and some of the other residents occasionally came up to enjoy the plants, but tonight at this late hour, the roof was deserted. 

Selina made her way down to Ivy’s apartment, letting herself in. 

Ivy was busy making one of her perfumes when Selina arrived, boiling water and chopping up bits of her plants. She looked tired, but smiled when she saw Selina.

“How did it go? Did you find out anything new?” she asked.

“The GCPD are investigating, but Penguin isn't sitting back and letting them do all the work,” Selina said. “We're going to visit him in the morning, show him what your perfumes can do. I told him we're helping whether he likes it or not.”

Ivy left her concoction for a moment to hug Selina tightly. “We're going to find him. We'll get him back.”

“Of course we will,” Selina replied, with more confidence than she felt.

“I'll be up a while longer, so if you want to sleep, take the bed, okay?” Ivy turned back to her work.

“Okay, but let me help you first,” Selina replied. “I don't think I can sleep right now.”

“Okay. Stir this slowly, while I get the rest of the ingredients,” Ivy said, handing Selina a wooden spoon.

Selina accepted the spoon, while Ivy gathered and prepared the rest of the things she needed for her perfumes. They worked long into the night, and when they were done, collapsed onto Ivy’s bed together to sleep until morning.

-

The dim light never wavered or went out. Jim had no idea what time it was, but knew he had missed dinner by the growling of his stomach. His wrists were sore from the zip tie binding them, and he knew there would be marks later. 

His mind kept wandering back to Oswald. He must have realised that Jim wasn't coming by now. Was he looking for him, or had he simply gone to bed?

Underlying all his worry was the thought of what business dealings his captor had been referring to. Oswald only ever talked about his work as the mayor ‒ the meetings and the functions he attended, fundraising and that sort of thing. But still, Jim had always had the feeling that there was more going on that Oswald was hiding.

Jim knew Oswald had a past as a criminal, a mob boss even. He had clawed his way to the top of Gotham’s underworld prior to his trip to Arkham for the murder of Theo Galavan. Selina had told him some of it, as she’d once worked for him, and the papers had dug up more details after Galavan’s death. No one knew what had happened directly after that, until Oswald reappeared to run for mayor and the story about finding his father came out. Oswald himself hadn’t told Jim any of it directly, and Jim hadn’t asked, but now he wondered what would have happened if he had. He had just assumed, as others had, that the criminal behaviour was firmly in the past. 

But there was half an overheard conversation he had heard one morning after he had stayed the night at the mansion.

“Your schedules, Oswald. One as Mayor and one as-”

“Thank you, Ed. Jim is leaving soon, so I hope you don't mind waiting a little?”

“Not at all.”

Jim had been puzzled over why Oswald might need two schedules, but hadn't thought much of it at the time. He knew Oswald had held meetings at the mansion, and he had been kept away during those times, but he hadn't been bothered about it. There were plenty of things that required privacy, and Jim had his own things to do anyway.

But now the memories wouldn't leave him alone. What if Oswald hadn't given up the criminal empire after his release? Edward would know, would be organised enough to manage schedules for both sides of Oswald's life. 

Did Isabella know? Did Selina and Ivy know? Were they all mocking Jim behind his back for loving a gangster, for believing that Oswald had truly given it all up?

Jim couldn't believe that. Selina and Ivy weren't mixed up in mob business any more, he was certain of that, so surely it wasn't much of a stretch to believe that Oswald had given it up as well.

Except that he probably hadn't, had he?

Jim hung his head, feeling incredibly stupid. He was going to have to have a long, difficult talk with Oswald when he got out of here.

Footsteps heralded the return of Jim's captor. The door opened again, and Jim looked up into the shadowy face of his kidnapper. 

“Well, I hope you've had a good think about what you're going to tell me, Jim,” the man said.

“I don’t know anything,” Jim replied. “Let me go.”

“I think you're lying to me,” the man said. “But don't worry. I'm sure my friends can get the answers I need from you.” 

He gestured, and two bulky men pushed past into the small room. They hauled him upright roughly, yanking him to his feet.

Jim struggled against their grip and got punched in the stomach for his troubles, knocking the air out of his lungs. 

“None of that,” snapped the man while Jim gasped for air. “Bring him.”

Jim was pulled along a corridor and out into what seemed to be an old office. There were empty bookshelves along one wall, and a desk shoved up against them. He looked about for clues as to where he was, looking for an escape route. The only door was the one he had been dragged through, but he had no chance to make a run for it. Even if he managed to break free of the men holding him, he'd seen they were armed with pistols. There were windows, but Jim didn’t think jumping through the filthy glass was a good idea.

There was a metal chair in the middle of the room. The zip tie around his wrists was cut, but Jim had no opportunity to take advantage of that. He was forced to sit in the chair, then bound by his wrists and ankles to the arms and legs with more. The two gorillas who had dragged him there took up positions behind him.

Now his captor was in the light, Jim could get a good look at him. Not that it did much good because he didn't recognise him at all. Dark hair, dark eyes and a nose that looked as though it had been broken a couple of times. He wore an expensive suit, though it was plain in comparison to the styles Oswald wore.

“My name is Rafael Santini. I'm a... business associate of your boyfriend. Now, sadly, I find myself let down by him. I asked for a little consideration when it came to certain business practices, only to find myself refused.” Santini shook his head as though sorrowful. “So now I seek other ways of getting what I want.”

“Kidnapping me isn't going to make Oswald do whatever you want,” Jim said. 

“Oh, I think it will. If Penguin loves you, then he'll do whatever we say. At least, he says he loves you, right?”

There was laughter from the others in the room. 

Jim glared mutinously.

“See, we already know Penguin will do anything when someone he loves is in danger,” Santini said. “So we’re going to take some nice pictures of you to send to him, along with our demands. After that… well, how much danger you're really in depends on how cooperative you decide to be.”

“Fuck you,”Jim replied.

Santini gestured, and one of his goons punched him in the face, with enough force to twist his head to the side. Then he heard the click of a camera. He glared up at Santini. 

“Good, good. Show some spirit!” Santini said encouragingly. 

Then his thug hit Jim again.

And kept hitting him, raining blows down on his face and chest.

“For the pictures, you understand,” Santini said when he finally called an end to the beating.

Jim didn't even lift his head in acknowledgement. Everything hurt. His lip was split, bleeding slowly, and there had been a particularly nasty crack when he had been punched in the chest. If he hadn't had a broken rib before, he almost certainly did now.

“Get those developed and bring them to me,” Santini ordered an unseen underling. “And lock him up again.”

The zip ties binding Jim were quickly sliced through. Rough hands hauled him to his feet again, but there was no fight in him anymore. He hurt too much for that.

He was taken back to the cell ‒ probably meant to be a storage cupboard, he realised, viewing it from outside ‒ and was thrown inside again. The door closed, leaving Jim in near darkness, and there was the scrape and click of a bolt sliding into place. Despite the pain and the discomfort, exhaustion won out and he passed into a restless, uncomfortable sleep.

-

Oswald had refused to go to bed, even when Edward returned from the precinct several hours later, waiting for any kind of news about Jim. In the end, he passed out on the sofa in the early hours of the morning. He regretted it when he woke up in the morning, aching and sore, but couldn't bring himself to care. Not when there was still no news of Jim. 

Edward persuaded him to come to the table for breakfast, but Oswald had no appetite, despite not eating dinner the night before either. He nibbled some toast at Isabella’s gentle insistence, but couldn't manage anything else. Edward had insisted that she stay the night, worried for her safety. Oswald hadn’t put up much of a fight, or any fight at all really, too concerned about Jim’s whereabouts to bother with Isabella.

The doorbell rang toward the end of breakfast. 

“That will be Selina and Ivy,” Oswald said, remembering for the first time that they were coming to visit. 

“Jim’s friends?” Isabella asked, interest piqued.

“Yes,” Oswald replied. “Selina thinks they have a way to help find Jim so I invited them over.”

“Is that not something for the police to do?” Isabella asked.

“Jim is in danger, or so I must assume,” Oswald replied. “And I will do whatever is necessary to see him safe again.”

Isabella gave a soft smile and a little sigh. “Jim is lucky to have someone who loves him so much.”

“Indeed,” Ed agreed. 

Olga showed the girls in, seeming as bored with proceedings as ever. 

“Guests, Mr Cobblepot,” she announced.

Selina and Ivy appeared behind her. Ivy seemed to be awed by their surroundings, twisting to look at everything.

“Man, you really have gone up in the world, Penguin,” Selina said. She slid into a seat at the table without waiting for an invitation. 

The last time she had worked for Oswald, he’d been living in a townhouse in the city. It had been a big step up from his mother's apartment, but it hadn't been anything close to the grandiose Van Dahl mansion.

“I've been… lucky,” Oswald said, trying not to think of how the mansion had become his. Though he’d only known his father a short time, losing him had still been an incredibly painful experience.

“I'll say,” Ivy said. She took a seat beside Selina. She seemed to notice Ed and Isabella for the first time, and smiled in greeting. “Edward and Isabella, right? I'm Ivy.”

“It's good to meet you at last,” Isabella replied. “Oswald was saying you can help to find Jim?”

Selina cast a look at Oswald, as if to ask if it was okay to talk freely in front of Isabella. Oswald honestly wasn’t sure, didn’t know her well enough to predict her behaviour when faced with any less than legal behaviour. Knowing that Edward had killed before hadn’t dimmed her love for him, but it was likely that she believed that Arkham had fully reformed him. 

Ivy didn’t seem to notice Selina’s reticence, or Oswald’s uncertainty and talked freely. “Yep, absolutely.” She said. She held up a vial on a chain hung around her neck. “This perfume can make any guy do anything I want. That's useful, right?”

Oswald sat forward, intrigued. “Anything?"

Ivy smiled, a devious glint in her eyes. “Get me a test subject, and I'll show you. After all, you wanted a demonstration, right?” 

Oswald looked at Edward. “I'm sure we can find someone, right?”

They were interrupted when one of Oswald's men came in with a white envelope. Sidney Kovac had been hired more for his brawn than his brains, but he was smart enough to be wary when dealing with Oswald directly, which suited Oswald just fine. 

“This just came for you, boss.” Sidney handed the envelope to Oswald. 

“A delivery on a Sunday?” Selina asked, frowning suspiciously. 

“Who brought it? Did you see?” Edward asked, while Oswald tore it open.

“Nope. They drove up in a car, handed it to the guys on the gates and left,” replied Sidney. 

Oswald tipped the contents out onto the table, giving a small cry of alarm. There were half a dozen photographs, all of Jim, all documenting an increasing number of injuries. The first couple showed him glaring defiantly at someone out of sight of the camera, but as the number of bruises increased, the more defeated he became. In the last one, he didn't lift his head, could have been unconscious for all Oswald could tell. Or dead, but Oswald refused to consider that possibility. 

“Oh no…” Isabella stared, going pale. She reached for Edward for support. 

Ivy made a small distressed sound, clinging to Selina’s arm. Selina swore viciously once she realised what the pictures showed.

Edward picked through the photos, putting them in order of progression. The only outward signs that he was affected were the hard set of his mouth, and the dangerous glint in his eyes. He had seen worse in his time at the GCPD, but this was a man he considered a friend.

“I'm going to kill them,” Oswald said, uncaring of the fact that Isabella was there. “I want them found, I want Jim safe and then I'm going to kill everyone responsible.” His voice rose with every word. By the end, he was on his feet. He pointed at the man who had brought the envelope in. “Bring me the guards from the gate. I want to know everything they saw. Now!”

The man hurried to obey. His quickly retreating footsteps echoed back along the corridor. 

“Oswald,” Edward said, trying to calm him before he scared Isabella.

Isabella picked up a photo, the one where it seemed like Jim might be unconscious. “They won't kill him, will they?” she asked.

Oswald turned back, as though he had forgotten she was there. “Give me that!” he said suddenly, snatching the photo. He turned it over, showing the writing on the back.

‘Ready to reconsider my offer, Mayor Cobblepot? I think Jim wants you to.’

There was a phone number scrawled underneath, but Oswald didn’t need to call to know who the photos were from. He recognised the number and the handwriting.

“Santini,” he snarled. “He’s going to regret this.”

“Who’s Santini?” Isabella asked, confused. 

“A business associate, one who is willing to do anything to get money out of Oswald, it seems,” Edward replied.

“He would go this far?” Isabella asked in disbelief.

“He’s not known for being nice. He puts on a show of being friendly, but he’s ruthless,” Oswald said. “And until lately, I had thought he was intelligent. Or at the very least, not completely stupid.”

“So what happens now? You’re going to tell the police about this, aren’t you? They’ll need to know.”

Oswald frowned. He would much prefer to deal with Santini himself, but now that the GCPD were involved, he would have to tell them. 

“We have to,” Edward said. “If we don't, and it gets out, the police could cause a lot of trouble for us.”

“Fine!” snapped Oswald. “Let Detective Bullock know if we must. But not yet.” He turned to Ivy and Selina. “I think we just found you a test subject.”

Isabella still looked pale, nervous and uncertain. Edward put his arm around her.  
“You don't have to stay for this,” he said. “I know this isn't… anything like what you're used to. You can go finish your book if you want to.”

Isabella leaned into him, eyes still on the photos. “I… I don't know.”

“You understand that if the GCPD finds out we're acting without them, it could lead to… awkward questions,” Oswald said. “I'm making the decision to trust you, as Ed trusts you and Jim considers you a friend too. If you stay to watch, then you'll have more to hide. If you choose to go upstairs, play a record, read a book, you can still plead ignorance if things go sour. But the decision is yours. Do you understand?”

Isabella nodded. She cast one last glance at the photos, then straightened up. “I'll stay. I don't know that I'll be any help, but Jim is my friend too. I don't want to sit on the sidelines while he's in danger.”

Oswald, for perhaps the first time, felt an inkling of respect for Isabella. She'd already shown a tendency to not back down when it came to her relationship with Ed, and while that had been infuriating at the time, Oswald was pleased to see that her loyalty extended to Jim as well. He could only hope that she wouldn't prove to be too squeamish if things got messy in the near future. 

And by messy he meant ‘bloody’.

Sidney returned with one of the guards from the gate.

“Boss, Bernie says he's the one who took the envelope,” Sidney said.

Bernie looked nervous. “Boss?”

Oswald smiled, and if not for the fury bubbling just below the surface, he would have seemed almost pleasant. “Thanks for joining us. Why don't you take a seat?” He gestured to the chair at the other end of the breakfast table.

Bernie nodded and sat down warily. 

“Do you still need me here, boss?” Sidney asked.

“No. Resume your duties. I'll summon you if I need you,” Oswald said. 

Sidney beat a hasty retreat. Once he was gone, all attention turned to Bernie.

“Ivy, I believe this is your show now,” Oswald said, indicating for her to get on with it.

“Okay.” Ivy dabbed some perfume on her pulse points at her wrists and neck. She stood in front of Bernie and gave him a friendly smile. “Don't worry. We just have some questions. But first…” She bent low in front of him, and Oswald tried not to roll his eyes at the way Bernie’s eyes followed her cleavage. “Why don't you tell me what you think of my perfume?”

The effect was almost immediate. Smelling Ivy’s perfume was an automatic reaction to her question, and Bernie slumped back in the chair, eyes glassy.

“There we go. Now, we're going to ask you some questions and you'll answer truthfully, right?” Ivy said, standing straight again.

“Yeah,” Bernie replied dully. 

“We need control questions to make sure it's really working,” Edward said.

Ivy turned to him, looking hurt and offended. “Of course, it's working. Look at him!” She waved at the guard, who didn't respond at all.

“In the interest of being scientific,” Edward said. “Control questions. Ones we know the answers to before we ask the ones we need to.”

“How long does this state last?” Isabella asked.

Ivy shrugged. “I dunno. I haven't timed it. Long enough to find out everything he knows anyway.”

“Can we just get on with this?” Selina asked impatiently. “Ivy’s perfume always works.”

“Three control questions. Then we get on with the actual questioning. This is your test run for me after all,” Oswald pointed out. He wasn’t feeling particularly patient, and they didn't have time to argue, not when Jim was in danger. He could understand why control questions would be necessary, though. 

“Fine. What do I ask him, then?” Ivy asked, giving in.

“His full name,” Edward said.

Ivy rolled her eyes. “What's your full name?” she asked Bernie.

“Bernard Harding,” he replied. “But my mama used to call me her little Bernie Bear.”

Selina snorted with laughter, while Oswald and Edward shared incredulous looks. Even Isabella looked amused by it, and she’s seemed more or less uncomfortable with the proceedings so far.

“Aw, that's sweet,” Ivy said, smiling sweetly. She glanced around. “Sometimes people say more than they mean, or more than I ask for.”

“Don't get distracted,” Oswald said. “Two more control questions, then we ask about the envelope.”

“Right.” Ivy looked at Edward. “What next?”

“Ask his age,” Edward instructed. “And then his address.”

“Okay. So, Bernie Bear, how old are you?” Ivy asked.

“Thirty eight,” Bernie answered.

“And where do you live?” Ivy asked.

“Apartment 209, 970 Drummond Street,” Bernie replied. 

Ivy looked over at Edward. “Happy now?” she asked, still a little sulky with him. 

“Extremely,” Edward said, grinning. “That is fascinating. How did you make it? How did you find the formula?”

“Not now, Ed,” Oswald interrupted. 

“It is incredible, though,” Isabella said, breathlessly. Oswald thought that perhaps she was afraid, but the expression on her face was one of intrigue and excitement. 

“Yes, that it is,” Oswald agreed.

Ivy preened under the praise, sharing a delighted smile with Selina. “So what now?” she asked.

Oswald stood and came to stand beside her. “I want to know everything he knows about the person who delivered the envelope to him,” he said.

“Well, Bernie Bear, you heard the boss. Who brought the envelope and what do you know about him?”

“I knew him. Told me not to say it was him, but I know him. My cousin's friend, Charlie. He works for Santini, didn't want to get involved, he said, not when they brought Gordon in, but he can't go against his boss, yanno?” Bernie said.

“Did he say where they were holding him?” Oswald demanded.

“Answer the question,” Ivy commanded, raising her voice to match Oswald’s, getting caught up in the moment.

“No, he didn't. Just turned his car around and left,” Bernie replied, as dully as ever. 

“Where does he hang out?” Edward asked. 

“Scotty’s Bar and Grill, down on Redwood Avenue,” Bernie said. “There's a bunch of Santini’s guys hanging out there. I go down sometimes too, see my cousin.”

“You think anyone there will know where Jim is?” Isabella asked. 

“They might,” Oswald said. “It's worth a shot.”

“You can't go, and neither can I,” Edward said, frowning. “We'll need to send someone else. Someone we can trust.”

“I'll go,” Selina volunteered. 

“But won't it be dangerous?” Isabella asked, worried.

“I'll go too,” Ivy said. “You'll need me to get answers.”

“Jim would have a fit if he knew his ‘little sisters’ were running into danger,” Oswald said. He turned a thoughtful gaze to Bernie. “Take him with you. He's known down there. Send him in to bring out one of Santini’s men for questioning. Don't bring him here, though. Do it elsewhere, and quietly.”

“What are you going to do?” Selina asked.

“Call the police,” he replied, not unaware of the irony of a known ‘former’ mob boss and murderer calling the police about a crime. “So you need to get going.”

“Okay. Come on, Bernie.” Ivy patted his shoulder. 

“Will the perfume last long enough to get there and find someone to question?” asked Isabella.

“I'll whammy him again if I need to,” Ivy replied. “We'll be fine. Don't worry about us.”

Isabella didn't look reassured. Edward caught her attention with a gentle touch.

“They know what they're doing, Isabella.”

“Yes, or I wouldn't be sending them,” Oswald said. “Selina and I have been… previously acquainted, shall we say, and I'm aware of her skills. Ivy is less known, but it would seem she's no less capable.” He smiled at them both. “Keep me apprised of the situation. As soon as we know where Jim is, we can get him back and deal with Santini.”

“Will do.” Selina gave a mock salute and left, Ivy gently urging Bernie to come along as well. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by [thekeyholder](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thekeyholder)

Jim was tired and aching. He had woken from his uncomfortable sleep feeling almost as tired as he had when he'd fallen asleep. There was no change in the light, so he had no idea how long he'd slept, or how long it had been since Santini’s goons had burst into his apartment. 

They hadn't restrained him, though. Had they forgotten or did they think he wasn't a threat? No doubt they were all armed with knives and guns, which Jim had little defense against, so they felt safe enough simply locking him up. 

He wondered if Oswald had been sent the pictures yet, and what he would do when he saw them. There was a certain image Oswald had to project as the mayor of Gotham, but he also had gained a reputation before his political career had begun. A reputation that wasn't undeserved, it seemed.

There were noises outside the cell again. Jim did his best to straighten up and not show how much pain he was in. When the door was finally opened, he glared defiantly up at Santini.

“Ah, there's that spirit I admire so much. I had hoped I hadn't broken you with that beating earlier. I wouldn't have harmed you in other circumstances, but Penguin must see that I mean business,” Santini said. 

Jim remained silent. If Santini wanted a conversation, he'd have to work for it.

“Now, those pictures have been sent, but it seems we have an… unforeseen issue,” Santini said. “I have contacts within the GCPD, and they tell me that one of your friends — the little cat burglar, I believe — tried to pay you a visit last night, and found the damage my men had done to your apartment. Sorry about that, by the way. No one was expecting you to put up so much of a fight.” Santini laughed. “Feisty little florist. I wonder if that's what Penguin likes about you?”

Santini seemed to like the sound of his own voice, and Jim was content to let him talk as long as he wanted. As long as Santini talked, Jim wasn't being hurt anymore. 

“But I was telling you about our unforseen circumstances,” Santini continued. “Your little friend called the police, apparently. I didn't think a thief would do that but — oh, I meant  _ former thief _ .” Santini smirked nastily. “And now the police are involved in the search for you, and I will have to deal with them as well as Penguin.” Santini paused for a moment. “I do wonder how they reacted when they found out Penguin has a boyfriend. Assuming they know, of course. He's been keeping you secret, you know. Do you ever wonder if he's ashamed to be seen stepping out with a  _ florist _ ? It's kind of…” Santini waved a hand in the air, as if this would help him find the word he was looking for. “Unexpected, is probably the kindest word for it.”

He paused, scrutinising Jim for a reaction, but Jim refused to give him the satisfaction.

“You know what I'm saying, right? Penguin, between his seat at the head of the table as self-proclaimed king of all Gotham’s crime syndicates and his role as the mayor, is one of the most powerful men in this city. Yet he's latched onto you, a complete nobody. Don't you think you're rather… ill-suited for each other? Or perhaps you're the social climber type?”

Santini regarded Jim in silence for a moment. “You're not speaking to me, huh?”

Jim glared sullenly, and refused to rise to the bait. Inwardly, he was seething with rage and would have loved nothing more than to knock Santini’s teeth out, but even without the goons waiting for him to take a swing at Santini, Jim was in no state to try anything.

“Well, regardless, I'm sure this will be enlightening for one of us, at least.” Santini shrugged and leaned against the wall by the door. “I wondered if you knew about your boyfriend’s  _ other _ business. You know, the crime I alluded to earlier.”

Jim didn't reply. He’d told Santini before that he didn't know anything, and that hadn't changed during the hours of his captivity. All he had was vague speculation. 

“Nothing? I had hoped you might see fit to remember one or two details while you had nothing better to do,” Santini continued. “Unless Penguin doesn't trust you?” He regarded Jim expectantly, like he thought Jim would protest and defend Oswald. 

Jim wanted to, but he wouldn't give Santini the satisfaction. 

Now Santini was starting to look annoyed. “This would be going better if you would say something. Do you want another beating?”

Jim still kept silent, but he inwardly relaxed a little. If Santini was only threatening a beating, then he probably wasn't going to kill him. Jim had seen his face, knew his name, and that should be enough reason to want to kill him. Jim could easily go to the police if he were to somehow escape or was set free, but Santini didn't seem bothered by that. It could have been arrogance, a certainty that he could deal with them and go free, but there was something else.

“Look, Jim, I know you'll still be hurting from last night, but maybe if you're willing to talk, I'll send one of my boys out for a first aid kit. Some painkillers, maybe fetch you a doctor, hm?” Santini tried, changing tack. “I know some very good ones. Back street surgeons, but they're good at what they do.”

It was like a light flicked on inside Jim’s head. Santini was afraid of Oswald. Not enough to keep him from kidnapping Jim, but enough that he wanted some kind of insurance to prevent Oswald from… from killing him? Having him killed? If Jim knew anything, Santini could use it to bargain with Oswald perhaps.

Too bad Jim didn't know anything. Not that he would tell Santini if he did. But Santini knew he would need Jim in one piece if he wanted any hope of negotiating his way out of this situation.

Santini crouched down to Jim’s level. “He's got the pictures, you know, and he knows that he needs to contact me if he wants to see you again, but I haven't heard a thing yet. You wonder why that is? Maybe he doesn't care about you after all,” he said. “So what is this loyalty to him really going to get you? Absolutely nothing, that's what.”

Santini stood up again. “Some food for thought. Now, in light of that, maybe you'd like to make this a conversation instead of a monologue?”

Jim shrugged, letting his gaze deliberately wander away from Santini.

“God fucking damn it, say something!” Santini shouted. “Your boyfriend doesn't care about you, and at this rate, I'll be sending you back to him in pieces.”

The silence following that was broken, not by Jim, but by the ringing of Santini’s phone. He pulled it out, smiling triumphantly. “Ah, at last. Penguin has finally decided you're worth his time.”

-

Bullock himself came out to the mansion to see the photos and collect them for the labs to examine. Apparently one of the perks of being the captain meant being more involved with potentially high profile cases, which this certainly would be if the media found out the mayor’s lover had been kidnapped. Or perhaps he just didn't trust anyone else to deal with Oswald. They had a history, after all, going back to the time when Oswald had been nothing more than Fish Mooney’s umbrella boy.

Olga showed Bullock into the dining room, where Oswald, Edward and Isabella were still poring over the photos. Edward and Oswald were looking for any clues as to Jim’s whereabouts, but whoever had taken the photos was smart enough not to get anything incriminating in the background.

“Alright, Cobblepot, where are the— holy hell.” Bullock stopped dead, staring at Isabella. “Kristen?”

“Isabella, actually,” Isabella replied. “I take it you knew Miss Kringle?” She glanced at Edward for confirmation, who nodded.

“You’re not related to her, are you?” Bullock asked.

Isabella shook her head. “Not as far as I'm aware. My resemblance to her is purely coincidental. Ed mistook me for her too, when we first met.” She slipped her hand into Edward’s.

Bullock looked up at Edward. “You have issues, Nygma,” he said, disgusted.

“As entertaining as this is, it isn't helping us find Jim,” snapped Oswald.

“Yeah, yeah, show me the photos,” Bullock said. 

Oswald gestured to the pictures spread out on the table. “I recognise the number on the back of the last one as belonging to Rafael Santini. I haven't called him yet, but he must know that I have the pictures and that I know it's him by now.”

“Santini… he’s got mob connections, hasn't he?” Bullock asked. “We’ve investigated him before on other matters, but nothing stuck.”

“Yes, well this time I'll make sure you have all the evidence you need if you can ensure Jim’s safety,” Oswald replied. Although he had his doubts that it would work. Santini was slippery, and he had evidence of Oswald’s dealings as well. If it came down to it, he would rather just kill Santini and be done with him. It would be a warning to all that Jim Gordon was off limits.

Bullock gave Oswald a speculative look. “I can't tell if you're doing this because you really do like Jim or if you just want to get rid of Santini,” he said.

“Jim’s safe return is my number one priority, Bullock, and I'll do all it takes to achieve that,” Oswald replied coldly. “Now, don't you have work to do?”

“Jim is important to all of us,” Isabella said. “Bring him home, and once you see them together, you'll never doubt that they're in love.” 

Bullock still looked skeptical. “I'll take your word for it. We're doing all we can, and I'm sure these pictures will help. If you know of anywhere Santini usually works from, that might help too. Do you know what Santini wants, why he's taken Jim?”

“He wanted money, and… leniency, for me to use my influence as mayor to encourage others to look the other way, to give him anything he wants,” Oswald said. “I said no, of course, when he first came to me. Now Jim suffers the consequences.”

Perhaps he should have said yes, if he had known it would spare Jim any pain. But he had assumed Santini would find different tactics, or would back down when Oswald applied pressure in the right places. Except his relationship with Jim had distracted him from the situation with Santini and he'd never got around to it. 

Now it seemed Santini had decided to take a page from Galavan’s book and taken someone Oswald cared about. Either he hadn't learned what happened to people who did that, or he didn't care. 

Oswald held the first photograph, where Jim still glared obstinately. The others, showing the dimming of his spirit until he finally couldn't look at the camera any more, were too worrisome. 

“I'll get a tracer set up here, and then you can call Santini,” Bullock said. “We'll do our best to find him.”

“See that you do,” Oswald snapped, or tried to. Instead, he sounded tired and worried. Any irritation he felt over dealing with the police drained out of him. All he wanted was Jim’s safe return.

Bullock made a call to the station so they could get something set up to trace the call. In the meantime, Oswald and Edward wrote up a list of the properties they knew Santini owned, whether under his own name or an alias. Oswald surreptitiously checked his phone for any contact from Selina and Ivy, but there was nothing yet. 

When everything was finally set up with a small team to record and track the call, Bullock summoned Oswald. Oswald gave his cell phone to Edward, in case there was contact from Selina and Ivy, then sat down to make the call.

The phone rang once, then twice and then Santini answered. 

_ “Oswald! So good to hear from you! I was beginning to think you didn't care about Jim.” _

“Santini,” Oswald replied, struggling to keep a level tone. “I want to talk to him.”

_ “Hm, I don't know. He's been rather reticent. Hasn't said a word to me all day,” _ Santini replied.  _ “But perhaps I could allow it…” _

There were some muffled sounds, and then Jim’s voice came over the line.

_ “Oswald?” _

“Jim, don't worry. We're going to get you out of there,” Oswald said quickly. “Jim?”

_ “That's enough, I think. Time to cut this short. If you've reconsidered my requests, then I expect to see results within… let's say twenty four hours. If not, well… “ _

Bullock, listening in through another headset, gestured for Oswald to keep him talking. Oswald scowled, waving him off. He wasn't stupid, he knew they needed more time to track the call. 

“Wait, I need your guarantee that Jim will be returned alive and well,” Oswald said.

_ “I know what you're doing, Penguin. I know the police are involved in this mess we've got ourselves in. Not your doing, I hear, but no matter. We'll talk later.” _

Santini hung up abruptly. Oswald scowled and slammed his handset down.

“Tell me you got something from that!” he barked.

The hapless operator trying to track the call shrank back, shaking her head. “Not enough time,” she said. “But we can analyse the recording, see if anything in the background can give us any clues.”

“Fine. Get to it then!” Oswald spun around, realising for the first time that Edward was nowhere to be seen. “Ed! Where did Ed go?”

“Took a call on his cell,” Bullock replied, irritatingly collected. “Calm down, Penguin. We have clues, we have leads. We're working on it.”

“Not fast enough. Get out of my home and find Jim, Bullock.” Oswald waved his cane in the direction of the door. 

“Yeah, yeah, we're going. Come on, guys. Time to pack up and move out,” Bullock announced to his team.

Oswald hovered impatiently, waiting for the police to leave. Edward still hadn’t reappeared, and he wasn’t sure if a long phone call was a good sign or not. Or perhaps the call was over and he was busy being distracted by Isabella, who had also made herself scarce.

As the last police car drove away from the mansion, Edward saw fit to reappear. Oswald turned to him, ready to demand to know where he had been and what, if anything, he had found out, but Edward beat him to it. 

“We may have a lead,” he said, grinning just as he did when the solution to a puzzle presented itself. “Selina and Ivy cornered one of Santini’s men at the bar and found out that Santini has taken some people and holed up in an old warehouse by the harbour. They’re heading there now to scout the area, with Bernie.”

“The three of them on their own won’t get Jim out of there, though,” Oswald said.

“No, which is why I’ve gathered your men and had them arm themselves. We’ll be ready to go as soon as you give the word,” Edward replied. 

Oswald took a breath. Progress at last. A location. They’d have to tread carefully, of course. They didn’t want Santini to know he was on his way. Who knows what he would do to Jim if he knew they were coming?

Let the police do things their way. At least with the recording, and the list of places to check that Oswald had given them, they would be kept busy and out of Oswald’s way.

Isabella appeared behind Edward at that moment. “Gabe says everyone’s ready,” she said quietly. She took a deep breath and looked up at Edward. “This will be dangerous for you, won’t it?”

Edward hesitated a moment, then nodded. “It is likely that there will be a fight,” he replied. “But Santini may yet still be reasoned with into giving up peacefully.”

Isabella bit her lip worriedly. “Be careful,” she said. “Take care of yourself.”

Edward smiled softly at her and kissed her gently. “I will.”

Oswald turned around so Edward wouldn’t see him rolling his eyes at their display. Love was all well and good, but really, did he have to be witness to their overly sentimental displays all the time? He was sure he and Jim weren’t ever quite this bad in front of other people.

“If you two are quite done gazing into each other’s eyes like lovestruck idiots, can we please get on with tracking down Santini and finding Jim?” Oswald asked impatiently.

Edward and Isabella blushed, stepping apart. 

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll be back to gazing into Jim’s eyes like a lovestruck idiot yourself soon enough,” Isabella said sweetly, despite her embarrassment. 

Oswald was momentarily speechless, shocked that she would talk to him like that. But before he could say anything, he found himself being hugged.

“Be careful, Oswald. I don’t want anything to happen to you, either,” Isabella said, pulling back. “Now, go rescue Jim.”

-

Selina and Ivy had followed Bernard’s directions to Scotty’s Bar and Grill in the van they used to make flower deliveries for Poison Ivy. Bernard had come out of his trance while they’d waited for a likely candidate to appear. 

They’d been quick to threaten him, but Bernard surrendered easily enough. He’d even accepted Ivy’s explanation of why he’d been drugged in the first place, and promised he was loyal to Penguin. 

If he wasn't a hardened criminal working for Penguin, Selina would have said he was a nice guy. 

Then he’d pointed out a man walking out of Scotty’s while they were talking, and said, “There, that guy. He works for Santini. Bet he can help us.”

They’d sent him after the man and waited in an alley. It hadn’t been a long wait, though Bernard’s companion had been surprised to see them. Ivy hadn’t given him time to react, though, twining her arms around his neck with an attempt at a sultry whisper to smell her perfume.

Once doped up on Ivy’s perfume, the answers had come quickly. Selina was on the phone to Edward as soon as they had what they needed. Of course, they couldn’t let Santini’s lackey walk away, so Bernard had put a bullet between his eyes and helped the girls load the body into the van.

Now Selina crouched on a rooftop across from the warehouse Santini’s lackey had told them about. She could see men at the doors, and there would be more inside. They didn't look bored either, for all that guard duty was a dull duty. They were too on edge. That wasn't good.

Ivy and Bernard waited below, unable to climb quite as well as she could. Though they hadn’t known Bernard for very long, Selina felt that she could trust him to watch out for Ivy.

Oswald was on his way now, with plenty of backup. All Selina, Ivy and Bernard had to do was make sure that Santini didn't move Jim without them knowing about it. 

As she watched, she saw one of the guards receive a phone call. His demeanour changed, from friendly to panicked and he dashed inside. 

Well, that probably wasn’t good.

But there were cars coming down towards the warehouse now, and she felt a wave of relief when she recognised the first car as Oswald’s. Moving quickly, she shimmied down the drainpipe she’d used to climb up and rejoined Ivy and Bernard. 

When Oswald arrived, they would be ready to help.

-

After the phonecall, Santini had left Jim alone. He waited until he was sure no one was coming back, then slowly and stiffly got up to explore. Not that there was much to explore. The room had been stripped of everything. There were no windows, save the one in the door. A peek through that revealed a man standing guard off to one side, but he wasn't paying attention to Jim. That would change if Jim were to try anything, though.

Finally concluding that he wasn’t going anywhere any time soon, Jim sat back against the wall opposite the door to wait for anyone coming back. He was hungry and thirsty, not having been given anything to eat or drink since he'd been kidnapped, and his stomach protested the absence of food loudly. 

Jim hadn’t been sitting there long when there were running footsteps in the hall outside and shouting.

“Boss says we gotta get Gordon out of here. Penguin’s comin’! Might be cops, too.”

“What? There’s no way that freak got the cops involved!”

“It’s just a possibility. But either way, Penguin’s on his way, so we have to get Gordon out before he gets here.”

Oswald was coming for him? Jim’s heart gave a little lurch at the thought of Oswald coming to his rescue. He hadn’t even thought to hope for that, just that he would survive to find his own way out. But if Oswald was on his way, then Jim wasn't about to let himself get quietly spirited away somewhere. He dropped back against the wall, head down as though he was asleep. He held the manacles he had been chained with in one hand, out of sight.

The door opened.

“Gordon? Come on, up you get.”

Jim held still until one of the men crouched down to his level.

“Hey, wake up! We haven't got—”

Jim struck, lashing out with a punch to the face. There wasn't much force behind it, but it was enough to knock the man over.

The second man came at Jim, who kicked out at his knees. He stumbled, and Jim quickly got to his feet, ignoring the pain he was in. 

The first man was on his feet again by now, pulling a switchblade out of his inner pocket. 

“Now, we're not allowed to kill you yet, but I don't mind—”

Jim didn't give him a chance to finish his threat, darting forward. He grabbed the man’s wrist with one hand and shoved his arm to the side while slamming him back into the wall. The knife dropped and so did the man, dazed but not unconscious. 

Jim cried out at a sudden sharp pain in his side. The second man had a knife as well. He grabbed Jim from behind, wrapping an arm around his throat and pulled the knife out from just under Jim’s ribcage. 

Ignoring the agony he was feeling, Jim kicked off from the wall in front to slam his assailant into the wall behind. The man’s grip loosened and Jim pulled away. He was out the door, slamming it shut and sliding the deadbolt into place before either of them recovered.

Finally getting a moment to pause, Jim pressed his fingers to the stab wound. They came away bloody. Blood was soaking into his shirt, but he had nothing to bind it with, or any time to do so.

The corridor stretched out on either side of him. Jim remembered the office he'd been dragged to was a couple of doors down to the left, and it was a good bet that the rest of the doors led to offices as well.

The door behind him rattled as the men inside banged to be let out.

Wrapping one arm around himself to try to stem the bleeding, Jim picked a direction and hurried away.

The first door he tried led to what seemed to be a break room, with an old dusty sofa and table. There was a bench along one wall, below a row of windows. Jim looked out and realised he was up on the second storey. Even if he'd been in peak condition, there was no way to get out that way. 

As Jim headed back out of the break room, he heard gunshots coming from further down the corridor.

“Oswald..?”

The sensible thing to do might be to get himself to safety. Jim hurried towards the sounds of fighting instead, wound still bleeding steadily.

-

Oswald watched with some satisfaction as Gabe took out the man guarding the warehouse door. 

“There were two,” Selina said, jogging up behind them. “The other took a call and ran inside a minute ago.”

Ivy and Bernie were right behind her.

“Santini will know we're here then,” Edward said.

“Good,” replied Oswald grimly. Let him know all his plans had come to nothing. Let him shake with fear, knowing that the Penguin had come to kill him for daring to take what was his.

Oswald signalled, and the rest of his men moved on ahead.

“Find Santini and bring him to me!” he ordered. “Surround the building and make sure no one gets out.”

“Have you seen any sign of Jim?” Ed asked Selina.

“No,” Selina replied. “But he must be here.”

“No one can lie under the effects of my perfume,” Ivy added. “If this is where Santini’s minion said Jim is being kept, then he's here.”

There was gunfire inside, followed by shouting. Edward pulled his own gun out of his jacket. 

“Let's go,” he said, as serious as Oswald had ever seen him.

-

The gunfire grew louder, and Jim could hear people shouting as he got further down the corridor. He stumbled, catching himself on the wall to keep from falling to his knees.

He was starting to feel dizzy. Pain lanced through him from both the wound in his side and his broken rib if he moved the wrong way, which seemed to be every other step. Only his determination to find Oswald kept him going. 

The door at the end of the corridor led to a flight of stairs. Descending was painful, but Jim clung to the railing for support and made it to the bottom.

“Santini! Come out, you coward!”

That was Oswald’s voice. Jim’s heart leapt. He really was here.

He almost fell through the door at the bottom of the stairs. Every cell in his body seemed to protest moving, but nothing would keep Jim from Oswald.

-

Bodies littered the open warehouse space, though there were fewer than Oswald had expected. Most were Santini’s, but a couple of his own people lay dead too. Oswald would pay his respects later, but now all that mattered was finding Jim and tearing Santini’s still-beating heart from his wretched body. 

Yet no one had found either of them yet. Santini must have run to hide as soon as he knew Oswald was coming. Oswald prayed he hadn't had time to move Jim to another location.

Selina and Ivy were searching for Jim, while Edward assisted in the search for Santini. The longer it took to find either of them, the more frantic Oswald became. 

“Boss!”

Gabe and another lackey escorted Santini to stand before Oswald in the open warehouse space. Edward was behind them, a gun trained on Santini in case he tried to escape. 

Santini was looking a bit worse for wear, suit torn and a bruise forming across his face. Gabe and the other man forced him to his knees.

“Too late, Penguin. I told my men to take Gordon away before you got here. Kill me and you'll never find out where,” Santini spat.

“You will never keep him from me,” Oswald said.

Santini laughed. “Don't think I need to,” he said. “You think he's going to want to stay with you, knowing what kind of monster you really are?”

Oswald flinched. Part of him knew that Santini was right. Jim was a good man, and he was not.

Edward hissed, and cocked his pistol with a click. “Shut up, Santini. You have no idea—”

“I know that Jim doesn’t know a damned thing about what you really do!” Santini interrupted. “At first, I thought you were keeping him a secret because you were ashamed of him, but now I realise it’s the other way around, isn’t it? You’re ashamed of what you do, what you are, and it’s making you weak!”

Oswald clenched his jaw, scowling at Santini. “I am not weak!” he snapped. 

“Then you’re afraid he’ll leave you, which still leads to the same thing. You think we haven’t noticed the change in you?” Santini snarled. “If not me taking advantage, then there’ll be others.”

“No, I don’t think there will.” Oswald smiled viciously. “Don’t you remember what I did to Theo Galavan? Don’t you remember why I killed him?”

Santini scoffed. “You haven’t got the balls for it. Too busy pandering to the masses, now that you’re the mayor.”

Oswald said nothing. He pulled his knife out of the inner pocket of his coat. He unfolded it with slow deliberate movements so he could watch Santini’s gaze focus on the sharp blade.

“You still think I won’t kill you for taking Jim?” Oswald asked. “You should have known this was only going to end one way the moment you even thought about harming him.”

His face twisted in a victorious snarl as he struck. The sharp blade slid easily through the skin of Santini’s throat, cutting through muscle and tissues, catching the aorta with a spray of blood. 

Santini gasped and gurgled, but he was dead in moments. 

It was a quicker death than Santini deserved, but his death would still suffice as a warning — something whispered in the shadows, but never proven by the light of day. There would just be Santini’s noticeable absence from the table at future meetings, and a carefully planted notion that he had decided to leave town.

“Oswald?”

-

Jim had only thought of finding Oswald. He hadn’t thought of what would happen if he bumped into Santini himself, or if Oswald found Santini before he found Jim. 

Jim was too far away to hear what they were saying, but he could hear Santini’s mocking laughter. Everyone’s attention was on Oswald and Santini, so they didn’t notice that Jim was there, or his slow, shaky steps as he approached.

But Jim saw everything. He saw the knife in Oswald’s hand, and the bright splash of blood that flowed from Santini’s neck.

He took another step forward, then another. 

“Oswald?”

Oswald turned to him, a horrified expression on his face. “Jim?” 

The knife dropped with a clatter, but neither man seemed to notice it. Jim tried to take one more step forward, stumbled, and was unconscious before he even hit the floor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry? :)
> 
> The next chapter might be a couple weeks in coming. I'm halfway-ish through writing it, but I don't know how much time I'm going to be able to spend writing next week. 
> 
> Feedback of all kinds is loved, and feel free to find me on tumblr at [emmageddon](http://emmadeggon.tumblr.com)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter of Snapdragon. I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. :)
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful thekeyholder.

As Jim fell, Oswald thought his heart would stop. He froze in horror for one too-long moment, then rushed forward, falling awkwardly to his knees by Jim.

“Jim! Jim!” He rolled Jim over, pulling him into his arms.

It was with a flood of relief that he realised Jim was still breathing, but that feeling was short-lived once he saw the wound in his side.

“Ed!” Oswald called frantically.

“On it,” Edward replied. He had his phone out already, calling for an ambulance. “He needs a hospital. Gabe, see to it that the dead are moved before the ambulance gets here.” Then he turned away as the emergency operator picked up and began relaying instructions.

“Jim!” Selina called out, running up to them with Ivy on her heels.

“He's alive,” Oswald said. “Ed’s calling an ambulance.”

Ivy sank to her knees beside Jim. “He'll be okay, won't he?” She sounded like a scared child, not the confident young woman that had come to Oswald that morning.

“I hope so,” was all Oswald could say.

“Put pressure on the wound,” Edward advised. “We need to stop the blood flow. The ambulance is on its way, we just have to keep him alive for a few minutes longer.”

“Thank you,” Oswald said fervently, pressing on the injury. “Can you-”

“Already working on cleaning up the rest of this mess,” Edward said. “Most of the dead can be thrown in the river, but I think we should do something else for Mr Santini. We don't want him washing up along the shore later. It may cause more problems.”

“Put him in the van. I’ll use him to feed the plants later,” Ivy said. She tossed the keys to Edward. At the questioning looks from both him and Oswald, she added, “Bodies make pretty good fertilizer. Smells bad though, so I'll have to keep Jim away from the greenhouses for a while. Unless you have any better ideas?”

“It will do,” Oswald said. “Just get him out of my sight.”

Edward nodded. “Come on.” He beckoned to the men carrying Santini to follow him and left to find the van.

Oswald clung to Jim, trying to contain his tears. He had a reputation to maintain in front of other people, after all. Still, he was grateful when Selina sat next to him and tentatively put an arm around him.

“I can't lose him,” he whispered shakily.

“Jim’s too stubborn to die this way,” Selina replied. She sniffed, wiping away tears. “He won't leave us like this.” She sounded as though she was trying to convince herself.

Oswald leaned into her, and didn't voice his fear that even if Jim did live through this, he would lose him anyway. Jim could never love a monster like him.

It felt like hours, but couldn't have been more than a few minutes later when the ambulance arrived. Feeling numb, Oswald let the paramedics take control of the situation. When they loaded Jim into the ambulance, Oswald climbed in as well to accompany Jim to the hospital.

-

Quiet beeping slowly filtered into Jim’s awareness. He felt fuzzy, almost like he was floating and there was the smell of flowers and damp soil he usually associated with the shop, or Ivy’s greenhouses. Had he fallen asleep at work?

No. He'd been kidnapped, hadn't he? He remembered Santini, and the thug with the knife and Oswald.

Oswald, who had come to save him. Oswald, who had killed Santini.

There was the sound of someone moving beside him. Slowly, Jim struggled to open his eyes.

The first thing he saw was the white panelled ceiling. Then he noticed the plants filling the room, covering every possible surface. Ivy’s doing, no doubt.

Selina, looking pale and tired, sat in the chair by the bed. She hadn't noticed that he was awake yet, staring miserably down at her hands.

“Hey,” Jim croaked.

Selina’s head jerked up. “Jim!” She leaned forward, taking his hand in hers. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” Jim replied. “How long have I been out?”

“Two days,” Selina replied. “Oswald’s been here most of the time but Ed dragged him out a few hours ago to get some proper sleep. I sent Ivy home to get some rest too.”

“You need sleep too,” Jim said.

Selina gave him a tired smile. “Promised Oswald I'd keep an eye on you,” she said. “You feel up to visitors? Only there's been a cop hanging around waiting for you to wake up,” she added.

“A cop?”

“Yeah. You did get kidnapped. They want to ask you about it,” Selina said. “Apparently the guy responsible skipped town and they need to know if you have any idea where he might have gone.”

Her tone was light, but Jim knew her well enough to know she knew more than she was letting on.

“Selina…”

“I don't know anything,” she said, and Jim knew she was lying.

Silence fell. Selina looked away uncomfortably.

“It's your choice, what you say to the cops,” she said quietly. “Just remember that you knew he was capable of murder when you began dating him.” She stood up. “I'll let the nurse know you're awake,” she said.

Jim sighed as she left the room. Yes, he'd known that Oswald had killed before. His murder of the previous mayor, Galavan, had been well publicised, until the next scandal occurred and the press moved on. But Oswald had pleaded insanity and gone to Arkham and emerged reformed, or so the story went. Oswald never talked about Arkham, though, and Jim hadn't known him before. How could he judge what, if any, effect the asylum had truly had on Oswald?

The nurse came in then, with Selina close behind. She checked his vitals and his drip with minimal fuss, and told him to get some rest.

Jim felt he didn't have much choice in that regard. Selina settled into the chair beside him again.

“You should go get some sleep yourself,” Jim said. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“Made a promise, didn't I?” Selina said. She put her feet up on the bed beside Jim. “I'm good here.”

Jim rested a hand on her ankle, silently glad for her company, and let the medication lull him back to sleep.

-

Selina was ushered out early the next morning when the nurse brought Jim’s breakfast. It was just a small amount of scrambled eggs and toast, but after days of not eating, it was almost heavenly.

While he was eating, there was a knock at the door. Whoever he was expecting, it wasn’t Harvey Bullock. Jim hadn’t seen Harvey since he was thrown out of the GCPD. They hadn’t been getting along for the brief duration of their partnership, and Jim had long suspected that Harvey had thrown him under the bus when problems began shortly before he was fired.

Besides, Harvey was a homicide detective, and if the GCPD believed that Santini had simply left town, then they would have sent someone else.

“Hey, Jim. You’re looking better than the last time I saw you. But then, last time I saw you, you were unconscious after the docs finished stitching you back together. How are you feeling?”

“Been better,” Jim replied.

Harvey sank into the chair by the bed. “So, I've got questions. Not all of them are about this kidnapping business, but we'll start with those.”

“I didn't think homicide detectives questioned kidnapping victims,” Jim said.

“Actually, I'm the Acting Captain for now, and I'm making an exception just for you, Boy Scout,” Harvey replied. “I know we didn't part on good terms, and maybe that was my fault.”

“You called me a smug, self-righteous asshole,” Jim butted in.

“Well, you were,” Harvey replied. “But if you can put that aside for a while, I'd like to get on with this.”

Jim shrugged, then regretted it when it caused a flash of pain in his ribs. “What do you need to know?”

Harvey pulled out a notebook and a pen. He noted down everything Jim replied as best he could to the questions. No, Jim had not known Santini prior to his kidnapping, nor had he been aware that Oswald knew him. He didn't know anything about Santini’s motives beyond what he had been told by Santini himself and that had been vague.

Then they came to Jim’s rescue.

“I don't know how Oswald knew where I was,” Jim said. “The first I knew that he was coming, two of Santini’s thugs were saying they had to move me because Oswald was on his way.”

“Santini didn't just order them to kill you?” Harvey asked.

“No. I guess he thought maybe he could still use me,” Jim replied.

“So they came to take you away — any idea where?” Harvey said.

“No, they didn't say and I didn't give them the chance to take me anywhere,” Jim replied. “They hadn't restrained me again after taking the photos, and I fought them off. I managed to lock them in the cupboard where they’d been keeping me, but one of them stabbed me in the fight.”

Harvey scribbled that down in his notepad. “Yeah, we found those guys when we were searching the place. They're due more than a few years in Blackgate now, for a multitude of crimes. But the guy we didn't find was Santini himself.”

Jim tensed. This was it, then. Reveal what he saw and condemn Oswald to Arkham again, or Blackgate, or betray his own morals and lie to protect him.

“Now, it's been suggested that Santini has  _ wisely _ decided to leave town, but we can't find any traces of him, no clues as to where he's gone. Nothing. You're our last hope.”

Jim’s gaze dropped to his lap. In his mind’s eye, he could see Oswald cutting Santini’s throat, and the horrified look on Oswald’s face when he realised Jim had seen the whole thing.

“Santini never talked about leaving in front of me. Mostly, he wanted me to share Oswald’s secrets,” Jim said at last.

“And did you?” Harvey asked.

Jim gave him a look. “Of course not. Besides, I don't think Santini would be interested in ticklish spots, or all the ways I can get him to-” He made some complicated gesture with his hands.

“Enough already,” Harvey interrupted, no longer able to meet Jim’s eye. “Jesus. This is venturing into way much information about Penguin than I ever wanted or needed to know.”

Jim smirked.

“You're still an asshole,” Harvey added.

Jim wasn't sorry. He'd had to deal with Harvey’s prostitutes during the brief time they were partners. His small revenge was years late, but still satisfying.

“So you don't know what happened to Santini?” Harvey asked, getting them back on track.

Again, the scene played out in Jim’s mind, the flash of the knife and the blood pouring from Santini’s neck.

“No,” Jim replied. “I remember hearing Oswald’s voice, and then I found him and… nothing else.”

Harvey gave him a long look, like he didn't know whether to push the issue or not. Jim kept silent, half afraid that if he opened his mouth, the truth would come tumbling out.

“So the last time you saw Santini was when?” Harvey asked.

“When Oswald called him. He was trying to get me to talk, then Oswald called, and after their conversation, he left. I didn't see him again after that,” Jim replied.

“Right.” Harvey made a note, then closed his notebook. “We might need to talk to you again, take a proper statement, that kind of thing, but that's it for the official stuff for now.” The notebook and pen disappeared back into a pocket.

“So, I hear you're a florist now?” Harvey said, shifting to make himself more comfortable. “Not something I could have ever pictured you doing, Boy Scout, I must admit.”

“I didn't see it coming either, but I enjoy it,” Jim replied, relaxing now that the conversation was turning to safer topics. “Plants are easier to deal with than criminals.”

“And yet you've managed to get involved with one of the most notorious criminals in the city,” Harvey said. “You know he's been in Arkham, right?”

“He's got a certificate declaring him sane and fit for release,” Jim replied, annoyed.

“And you believe that?” Harvey asked. He held his hands up as Jim sat up straighter, ready to defend his lover. “I'm just trying to understand the appeal,” he said. “I mean, he's a gangster. He's killed people, and so has Nygma, who is apparently your friend too? What the hell, Jim? I know you don't carry a badge any more, but he's a cop killer. Don't you have any loyalty towards the GCPD anymore?”

“Why should I?” Jim snapped. “None of you stood by me when they fired me.”

“You upset people, Jim. You were a brash, naive, stubborn moron who never tried to befriend anyone, too busy stuck up your own ass, too idealistic. You were never going to last long if you didn't compromise the same as the rest of us,” Harvey replied.

“Compromise? You mean accept bribes, the same as the others? Turn my back when gangsters were taking each other out in the street?” Jim asked. “At least I have the courage to stick to my morals.”

Harvey stood up suddenly, the plastic hospital chair skidding backwards with a loud screech. “We do what we have to, to survive. If you weren't fired, you'd have probably been killed by now. And you can't talk about clinging to your precious morals when you're fucking a goddamned mob boss and running a damned flower shop with criminals and befriending murderers.”

“Get out!” Jim snapped, glaring furiously.

The door burst open, revealing an extremely irritated nurse. “Detective, if you can't keep your voice down, I'm going to have to ask you to leave and stop riling up my patients. I can hear you all the way at the end of the corridor!”

“He's leaving,” Jim told her.

Harvey glanced between them, then threw his hands up. “Fine. But remember — if Penguin had never been involved in the mob, you would never have been kidnapped by one of his rivals.”

He pushed past the nurse, who glared after him. Jim settled back on the bed, willing himself to calm down. Yes, Selina had been a thief, and Ivy had grown plants to make drugs for the mob, but they were out of that now. Edward hadn't killed anyone since his release from Arkham either.

But he had stood there while Oswald killed Santini. Jim remembered seeing him there, standing behind Santini with a gun in his hand. Had he used it before Jim had arrived?

The nurse checked that none of the monitors connected to Jim had become dislodged and then took his breakfast tray. Shortly after the nurse had left, there was a quiet knock on the door.

Selina poked her head in. “Wasn't sure if that cop was still here,” she said.

“He's gone,” Jim replied.

“Good. Oswald’s here to see you.” She pushed the door further open to reveal Oswald standing behind her, looking pale and tired, but smiling to see Jim awake. He looked so beautiful right then, and all Jim could see in his mind was the way he’d killed Santini.

“Hey, Oswald,” Jim greeted, subdued.

The smile slipped from Oswald’s face, and he stepped forward into the room. “Jim, how are you feeling?” he asked anxiously. He propped up his cane against Jim’s bed and took Jim’s hand.

Behind him, Selina shut the door to give them some privacy.

“Not so bad. They must have me on some pretty good painkillers,” Jim replied. He tried for a smile, but it didn't seem to convince Oswald.

“I'm so sorry,” Oswald murmured, downcast. He stroked his thumb over Jim’s hand.

Jim glanced down at their joined hands, as if he would see blood staining Oswald’s pale fingers. There wasn't any, of course.

“I saw you kill him,” he whispered.

Oswald stilled.

“I didn't tell the police,” Jim said, not looking up at Oswald’s face for fear of what he might see, or not see. “I don't know if that was… right or not. I mean, it would be… but…”

“Jim, I'm so sorry. I never meant to put you in this kind of position. Please believe me, I-”

“Oswald.” Jim cut off Oswald’s rushed words with a look.

Oswald’s mouth shut with a click.

“Was there any other outcome for Santini after he kidnapped me?” Jim asked.

Oswald regarded him for a long moment before answering. “I won't lie to you. The moment I knew you were in trouble, I knew I would kill whoever had dared to hurt you, regardless of who they were.”

Jim nodded slowly, absorbing Oswald’s answer. “I appreciate your honesty,” he said slowly, trying to keep his voice even. “But you have to understand that I'm really fucking upset with you right now. You’ve put me in a position where I have to either betray you, or betray myself, and I don't know what I'm supposed to do.”

“Jim, I’m sorry, I truly didn't mean-”

“Oswald,” Jim interrupted again. He looked up into Oswald’s eyes and resisted the urge to wipe away the tears he saw gathering there. He clenched his jaw, then continued. “I don't think I can be around you right now. I need time to think, and then we're going to talk, and I… I don't know if… if there'll still be an ‘us’ afterwards.” It hurt to think such a thing, and it hurt worse to say it, but Jim soldiered on regardless, even as Oswald let out a small sound of anguish. “I need time, Oswald. Can you give me that?”

Oswald nodded. “I… yes, I understand. I'll give you all the time you need, but please, Jim, if there's anything you need from me, anything at all, please let me know.” He squeezed Jim’s hand, then reluctantly let go. “I suppose I should leave now,” he said, picking up his cane.

“Yeah, please, just go, Oswald,” Jim said thickly, past the lump in his throat.

Oswald nodded, took two steps then came back to Jim’s bedside. “One last thing.” He looked Jim in the eyes steadily. “I love you. I want you to remember that.”

He bent and kissed Jim, deeply and desperately, lingering as long as he could, as though he feared this would be their very last kiss.

Jim let him, kissed him back just as deeply, just in case it was.

-

Oswald didn't come by the hospital again before Jim was released. Jim was grateful for that, even as he missed Oswald deeply. He wanted things to go back to the way they had been before, when all he needed to worry about was which flowers to bring for their dates.

Of course, Oswald still managed to make himself known in other ways. When Selina and Ivy came to visit, they didn't need to tell him that the bouquet of two dozen red roses was from Oswald. Though he wanted to be annoyed with Oswald for sending them while he was still conflicted, he still smiled to see them.

A couple of days later, Jim was discharged from the hospital. He was given strict instructions to take it easy for a week or so at home, and some painkillers to take, and then Selina and Ivy took him home.

He texted Oswald as they left the hospital to let him know he was out.

_ Just been released from the hospital. I'm going home with Ivy and Selina right now. _

_ Thank you for letting me know. Are you ready to talk yet? _

Jim hesitated before texting back.

_ No, not yet. _

Oswald didn't reply, so Jim slipped his phone back into his pocket and let Selina drive him home.

They'd tidied up while he was in hospital, so Jim didn't have to worry about that. However, they hadn't mentioned the replacement coffee table that had appeared in place of the old one.

Jim didn't have to read the card left on top to know that the new piece of furniture had been purchased by Oswald. It was glaringly out of place amongst the rest of Jim’s furniture, which was mostly second-hand or cheap from whichever store was currently having a sale. This was clearly brand new, from some store well above Jim’s means, but of a minimalistic style that he could find no fault with. It just didn’t match with the rest of Jim’s beat-up old furniture.

_ ‘I do hope I'm not overstepping my bounds, but you were in need of a new coffee table, my dear. I hope you like it. I did consider replacing the sofa as well, given that there was some damage done to it, but I do have some fond memories of it, so I chose to have it repaired instead. I also took the liberty of restocking your fridge, so you don't have to live on takeout, as I know you would.’ _

“When he says ‘fond memories’...” Selina began, leaning around Jim to read the note. “He means sex, right?”

“Selina!” Jim blushed red.

“That’s a yes, then,” Selina said. “And I’m never sitting on that sofa again.”

Jims blush darkened and he turned away. Fond memories, indeed. He pulled out his phone and texted a quick thank you to Oswald. He didn’t even have time to put his phone away before Oswald texted a response.

_ It's the least I could do, dearest. _

Jim read the text over again, then turned his phone off.

“So, I say we eat, then watch movies for the rest of the day or something,” Ivy said.

“You don't have to stick around, you know. I can take care of myself,” Jim pointed out.

“Doctor's orders are we have to take care of you and make sure you don't pop your stitches or anything like that,” Ivy said.

“I wouldn't,” Jim protested.

Selina punched him on the shoulder. “Shut up, don't argue,” she said, as Jim rubbed his shoulder. “This isn't just about you anyway.”

“Selina…”

“We nearly lost you,” Selina said.

“We thought we had,” Ivy added. “You were so still…”

“Oh. I…” Jim didn't get a chance to finish before he was being hugged fiercely by both of them.

“Don't get stabbed again,” Selina ordered, her face buried in his neck. She sounded close to tears, though Jim would never call her on it.

Ivy didn't bother hiding her own tears, crying as she wrapped her arms around Jim. She was also shameless about drying her eyes on his shoulder, but Jim couldn't find it in him to be upset about that. They were family, after all, as close to it as it was possible for three unrelated people to be. He held them both close until they were ready to pull away. Jim hadn't truly considered how his disappearance had affected them, or his hospital stay afterward. He had been too caught up in all he had learned about Oswald and how it affected their relationship.

“I'm not going anywhere,” he assured them. “You're not going to lose me, now or ever.”

Eventually, the girls pulled away. Ivy said something about dinner, and went to get started on cooking. Selina set about going through Jim’s movie collection, mixing in a few of his favourites with the movies she and Ivy had brought.

Jim wandered into the kitchen to help Ivy but was refused.

“Nope! You're taking things easy today,” she said, waving a wooden spoon at him. “Out! Go make yourself comfortable on the sofa. Maybe get a blanket for me and Selina, because I don't want to be sitting where you and Oswald made some ‘fond memories’!”

“You two are making too big a deal of that,” Jim replied. “We just made out a bit, that's all.” But he still went and sat while Selina selected movies to watch.

Despite their fussing, both girls ended up curled on the sofa on either side of Jim after eating Ivy’s vegetarian stir fry.

They took it in turns to choose a movie to watch, so after Selina’s choice of The Cat From Outer Space, Jim chose The Italian Job while Ivy made popcorn.

Somewhere in the middle of Ivy’s pick (The Little Shop of Horrors), all three dozed off in front of the TV, Jim with his feet up on his new coffee table, Selina curled into his side and Ivy lying across his lap, her legs dangling over the arm of the sofa.

-

_ Oswald stood in front of the kneeling Santini, filled with rage and grief. Jim was gone, and Santini was to blame. _

_ He didn't stop with merely cutting Santini’s throat this time. He stabbed him repeatedly, plunging the knife in over and over until his hands were slick with blood, until it covered the floor. _

_ “You think he's going to want to stay with you, knowing what kind of monster you really are?” _

_ Santini’s mocking voice came from behind. Alarmed, Oswald spun around, lashing out with his knife. _

_ He missed, Santini staying always out of reach. Santini’s laughter echoed around him, growing louder and louder until a quiet whisper broke through. _

_ “Oswald…” _

_ Oswald turned. Jim lay where Santini’s body should have been, pale and still, soaked with his own blood. There was no life in the eyes that stared accusingly at Oswald. _

_ “No, no!” Oswald sank down beside Jim, kneeling in a rising tide of blood. It ran freely from the wounds in Jim’s neck, far more than there should ever be in a single person, a red tide rising higher and higher, but still Oswald kneeled, unwilling or unable to leave Jim’s side. The blood threatened to engulf him completely, rising to his chest, then his neck and then- _

Oswald awoke with a start, heart pounding in his chest. His room was dark, the mansion quiet but for the sounds of an old house settling in the night.

He rolled over to face the side of the bed where Jim had taken to sleeping on the nights he stayed over, stretching out a hand into the empty space as if the act could summon Jim to his side.

The sheets were cold, only reinforcing the knowledge that Oswald was alone.

But the sheets hadn't been changed since the last time Jim had stayed, and his scent clung faintly to the pillowcase. Oswald pulled the pillow to himself, breathing deeply, trying to pretend that Jim was there after all, but the oppressive silence in the room and the coolness of the pillow shattered the illusion before Oswald could really concentrate on it.

He pushed the pillow away. Despite the early hour of the morning, Oswald doubted that he would get back to sleep. After his nightmare, he didn't particularly want to anyway.

Quietly, Oswald slid out of bed and reached for his robe. If he wasn't going to sleep, then there was little point in staying in bed. He didn't turn any lights on, unwilling to risk waking Edward and Isabella, as he crept through the mansion to his study.

There was some paperwork left from the previous evening that needed his signature. Oswald sat at his desk, turned the desk lamp on and stared blankly at the pages.

None of it made sense. He read and re-read the same lines over and over, but nothing sank in, and it may as well have been written in mandarin for all Oswald could make sense of it right then.

He missed Jim. It was like an aching, empty hole in his very being. It threatened to consume him.

A photo of Jim stood in an ornate frame on his desk. It was a candid shot, taken by Isabella when Jim wasn't paying attention to the camera in her hands. In it, Jim sat on the sofa in the parlour, smiling fondly at Oswald, who had been just out of sight of the camera. It was one of Oswald’s favourite pictures of Jim because it showed how Jim looked at him when he thought no one was watching. Jim had been embarrassed later, when he'd realised Isabella had snapped a picture, blushing, the fond smile turned bashful under the attention.

Oswald stroked his thumb over the picture, wondering if Jim would ever look at him like that again.

Giving up on the paperwork, Oswald set it down and limped over to his bookcases. He pulled several thick, heavy books from the shelves and carried them over to his desk. They weren't for reading, though it might put him to sleep again if he tried, but they were somewhat special.

Between sheets of absorbent paper, nestled among the printed the pages, were the flowers Jim had given Oswald during the first months of their courtship.

Edward had called him a sentimentalist once, and he had been right. Even without knowing what Jim meant by the flowers, they had been important to Oswald. He'd thought to keep them as a reminder of precious time spent with a friend he was falling in love with, who he had thought would never love him back. But then Jim had confessed, and now they served to remind him of how and why he had grown to love Jim so quickly.

Even now, Oswald still added flowers from each bouquet Jim brought him.

It occurred to Oswald that he might not receive any more flowers to add to his collection.

The thought brought a fresh wave of pain, and he found himself reaching for the bottom right drawer of his desk, and the bottle of well-aged whiskey he kept there. Glasses were kept in a cabinet by his desk, along with some lesser bottles of whiskey and brandy for guests.

He poured himself a generous measure and tipped it back in one gulp. It was a waste. Such a drink was meant to be sipped and savoured, but at two o’clock in the morning, after a nightmare in which he’d killed the love of his life, Oswald couldn’t bring himself to care.

He'd just poured himself another glass when there came a quiet knock. Oswald jerked his head up in shock, and tried not to glare when Isabella put her head around the door. Could he not get a moment to mope in peace?

“I'm sorry,” she said, her quiet voice seeming louder as she broke the silence between them. “I heard you get up and thought you might not want to be alone.”

Oswald didn't want to be alone, but it wasn't her company he wanted.

Isabella took his silence as an invitation to come further into the room. For possibly the first time of their acquaintance, she wasn't perfectly put together. Her hair was a mess, and she hadn't removed all of her mascara, so it had smudged all around her eyes. Yet her peach satin nightgown and matching robe were crease free.

“I don't mean to intrude but I thought that perhaps you could use someone to talk to. It's better than drinking alone in the dark,” she said.

“The light’s on, it's not dark,” Oswald muttered.

Isabella only smiled indulgently. “You know what I mean.”

Oswald scowled. “I was going to have you killed, you know,” he said spitefully.

That gave Isabella pause. “Oh…”

“I was going to send Gabe to cut the brake lines on your car. There would be a terrible accident. Ed would never have to know of my involvement. He'd mourn you in due course and then... forget you. Forget you ever existed. And we could have…” Oswald stopped, vitriol draining out of him. “He'd never forgive me if he knew,” he whispered, dropping his gaze.

“Can I ask what changed your mind?” Isabella asked warily, unsure of her welcome.

Oswald turned the picture of Jim so she could see it. “Jim said to me once that I should try to be happy that Ed was happy, even if he wasn't happy with me,” Oswald said. “So I tried, for Ed’s sake, and anyway, he’s an intelligent man. He’d probably figure out what I did anyway and he’d never forgive me for hurting you.” Oswald shrugged, reaching for his glass. “Do you still want to be here?”

Isabella took a determined step forwards. “Yes.”

Oswald looked up at her in surprise. “I wanted to kill you,” he said. “I planned it.”

“But you didn't,” Isabella replied, smiling fearlessly.

“I still could.” Oswald sat back in his chair, holding his glass of whiskey. “It wouldn't be hard.”

“But you won't,” Isabella countered, her smile growing as she stepped forward again.

“How are you so sure?” Oswald snapped, annoyed that she wasn't afraid of him.

“You said you _ wanted _ to. Past tense,” Isabella replied, leaning over his desk. “Which means you don't want to anymore.”

Oswald scowled at her for a long moment. “Fine. You… may have earned some small amount of respect lately. That's all.” He pushed away from the desk and fetched a second glass from the cabinet. He poured a small measure of whiskey and handed it to Isabella.

She accepted the glass with a small smile. “I never wanted to come between you and Edward, but you understand that I couldn't let him go either.”

“I know,” Oswald said, settling in his seat again. He gestured for Isabella to take a seat opposite him. “I didn't want to let him go either. I tried to persuade him that it would be better for him to break up with you, before I'd decided to have you killed.”

“At least murder wasn't the first thought to cross your mind,” Isabella replied, amused.

“Oh, it was,” Oswald said. “At least, after the initial…” He stopped. He didn't want to use the term heartbreak. Despite all he'd said already, it felt too revealing. “Sorrow,” he settled on, after a moment. “But I gave you a chance to back out, for Ed’s sake. And now it seems I'm stuck with you and him putting on gross displays of affection every time you come over.” He scowled again.

Isabella laughed quietly. “As if you and Jim are any better, always touching and gazing into each other’s eyes, and sneaking kisses when you think you're alone.”

Oswald narrowed his eyes. “Are you saying we disgust you?” he asked.

Isabella, in the middle of a sip of whiskey, hurried to swallow. “No, of course not!” she protested. “I simply mean that you're just as in love with Jim as I am with Ed, and he loves you just as much.”

Oswald turned away. “Loved, you mean. Past tense.”

Isabella leaned over the desk and put her hand on Oswald’s wrist. “Loves. Present tense. I promise you, he will still love you when you see him next.”

“Then why doesn't he want to see me?” Oswald asked, hating the way he couldn't keep the vulnerability out of his voice.

“He'll come around,” Isabella replied. “I know you haven't told me everything that happened when you went to find him. I know that I might be better off not knowing. But I do know that Jim loves you, whatever happened in that place, the same way I still loved Ed after you told me that he'd killed Miss Kringle. But something like that… it can change things.”

Oswald thought back to the look on Jim’s face when he saw him in the warehouse, and the tone of Jim’s voice when he'd told Oswald to get out of his room at the hospital. “But if that change does mean he no longer loves me? What then?” he asked.

Isabella gave him a sympathetic look. “Sometimes, you have to fight for love, and sometimes you need to know when to let it go,” she said. “If Jim says he doesn't want to continue your relationship, then you'll have to decide whether it would be right to fight for him, or sacrifice your own happiness so that he might find his again.”

“But how will I know?” Oswald asked. The thought of Jim leaving was an agony that hadn't diminished even once since he'd killed Santini.

“You’ll know,” Isabella replied with irritating certainty.

It was alright for her, Oswald thought spitefully. She would have much more experience with love and romance. She probably read nothing but trashy romance novels in her spare time and they’d filled her head with nonsense.

Isabella leaned over the desk again, this time looking at the books he had stacked on the desk. “Late night reading?”

“Not quite,” Oswald replied, and then, because he had already shared more than he had ever intended to share with Isabella, he opened the first book. Carefully, he turned the pages to reveal the delicate pressed flowers within. “I started this with the first flower he gave me — not one I bought, but one that was gifted, before I started falling for him. I don’t even know why.” He turned to the white camellia carefully preserved between the pages. “This was the first. I’d bought a bouquet from him, and then he stopped me just before I left. He stood so close, and tucked it into my buttonhole, and told me it was for luck.”

“Do you remember every time he gave you a flower?” Isabella asked.

Oswald nodded. “From the flowers he picks in the park, to the ones he brings me on our dates.” To his shame and irritation, his eyes blurred with tears again, and he turned his gaze away from Isabella.

“You know, I really don’t think you have anything to worry about,” Isabella replied. Oswald was grateful that she gave no signs of noticing his tears. “He might just need a little push, is all.”

Oswald looked back at her then, but she was focused on the flowers, turning pages with the same reverence she used for her own books. She saw the variegated tulips, and the primroses, and orchids.

“He asked me to leave him alone,” he said. “And I’ve tried, and so far, all he’s let me know is that he’s out of hospital and likes the new coffee table.” The texts had been excruciatingly neutral in tone. Not that Jim was usually texting sugary endearments and signing every text with kisses, and perhaps anyone else reading them wouldn't pick up on it, but Oswald had.

“Oswald, I’m sure he’ll talk to you when he’s ready,” Isabella replied.

“I just wish there was something I could do in the meantime,” Oswald said. “I’ve done everything I can for now, I think — replaced his coffee table, had other things that were damaged fixed, made sure he has plenty of fresh food — he’ll just order takeout if left to himself, and that’s no good — and I paid his hospital bill, though I didn’t mention that.” He ignored the soft way Isabella was smiling at him as he listed all he had done for Jim. It was irritating, and he just knew she was thinking he was sweet, or some such nonsense.

“You should probably tell him about that,” Isabella advised. “He’ll find out eventually anyway, but it might be better if you tell him first.”

Oswald frowned. “He'll feel like he's taking advantage,” he replied. “Or worry that other people will think he's only with me for my money. I just don’t want him to have any additional worries while he recuperates and decides… decides if he still wants to be with me.”

Isabella stopped turning the pages and gave him a steady look. “Oswald, when one is in love, sometimes you don’t want to see the bad side of the one you’re in love with, but you can’t ignore that part of them forever, especially if that part of them is a killer. I’m not stupid — I know that Santini must be dead, that you must have killed him and that Jim must know this as well, and that’s what he’s having trouble accepting.”

“You had no trouble accepting Edward’s history of murder,” Oswald replied, narrowing his eyes.

“I’m different to Jim. He is a former cop, remember?” Isabella said gently. “He joined the GCPD for a reason — to help protect the people of Gotham, to help people and deal with criminals. But now he’s fallen in love with one, and I can only imagine how conflicted he must feel about that. At the very least, take comfort in the fact that he saw the best of you first. He knows that you’re more than just another murderer.”

Oswald tilted his head thoughtfully. “That’s true,” he agreed. “And perhaps the fact that he’s taking the time to consider what this means for us is a good thing,” he added. “If he no longer loved me, then surely he would have broken things off at the hospital.”

Isabella smiled brightly. “Yes, exactly!” she said. “That’s much better.” She stood up and came around the desk to pull him into another embrace. “Think positively. I’m sure Jim will come to you soon.”

Oswald froze as her arms wrapped around him, then relaxed enough to awkwardly return the hug. “Yes, I’m sure he will. He isn’t one to leave things for longer than necessary,” he agreed.

“Now, back to bed,” Isabella said. “You’ll be no good if you’re falling asleep all day tomorrow.” She pulled away, still smiling.

“I suppose you’re right about that as well,” Oswald said. He closed his book of flowers, and let Isabella help him put them back. He escorted her back to Edward’s room, and then returned to his own bed, feeling lighter than he had all week.

-

Jim regretted falling asleep on the sofa when he awoke the next morning. It hadn’t been comfortable, especially being used as a pillow by Selina and Ivy. Still, they were his favourite girls, and he would never complain about the fact that his arm was numb from the shoulder down where Selina was leaning against him, or that Ivy had cut off the circulation to his leg.

Well. He couldn’t complain too much, but he did need to use the bathroom.

He wondered if he could slide free without waking them, but gave that thought up immediately when Selina stirred at the first movement.

“Ugh, next time let's not fall asleep on the sofa,” she muttered, pushing herself upright. “I call first dibs on the bathroom.” She stretched out, cat-like, and left Jim to try to wake Ivy on his own.

“Ivy. Hey, wake up.” He nudged her a couple times.

Ivy didn't respond, so Jim slid out from under her carefully. It couldn't have been a comfortable position for her, but somehow she slept through it. Jim watched her for signs of waking as he massaged the life back into his numb limbs.

It was only when Selina emerged from the bathroom, freshly showered and wearing a clean set of clothes, that Ivy finally stirred. “My turn for the bathroom,” she mumbled.

Jim sighed, resigned himself to another wait, and helped her upright. “Yeah, sure. I'll get started on breakfast, I guess.”

“You're taking it easy, remember?” Selina said. “I'll do breakfast, you just sit and look pretty or something.”

“I can manage breakfast. Honestly, I'm mostly healed,” Jim said, following Selina to the kitchen.

“Sit,” Selina commanded, pointing to a chair.

Jim sat. “I'm just saying, I can help.”

“You got stabbed and beaten up. One of your ribs was broken, and the doctors worried that you might have a concussion,” Selina said, digging through his fridge to find appropriate breakfast foods for all three of them. “So now you're going to let me and Ivy take care of you for a bit, before we have to go open the shop, because we do still have to work. You, in the meantime, are going to eat the breakfast we make you, watch some TV and take it easy for a few days.” She paused, straightening up, then added, “And maybe go see Oswald.”

“Selina…”

“You should talk to him, you know,” she said quietly, turning around.

“I will,” Jim replied. “I just… need time to think, to decide what to say and do.”

Selina pursed her lips. “He was frantic, when he found out you were in danger,” she said.

“I saw him murder Santini,” Jim replied, crossing his arms over his chest. “That's not something I can just ignore.”

Selina threw her hands up. “You knew he was capable of that when you started dating him,” she pointed out. “Everybody knows.”

That much was true. Even if it had faded from public memory by the time Oswald had begun his run for office, Mayor James had done his best to remind people that they would be voting for a convicted criminal. It had partially worked, but public opinion had still fallen in Oswald’s favour when it was pointed out that Galavan was a crook who had unleashed a gang of insane criminals on the city and was part of a cult that apparently practised human sacrifice, or something like that, and Oswald had in fact been doing the city a favour when he had killed him, no matter the motive.

Jim turned away. “I… I know. I guess… I thought he had changed? Or... or something. He's so… when we're together, he's thoughtful, and kind, and generous and loving, and it’s not like we ever talked about it.” He sighed, putting his head in his hands. “He never brought it up and I was never going to ask about it. What am I supposed to say, anyway?” He put on a sarcastically cheerful tone as he continued, “Hey, honey, remember all that time you killed Mayor Galavan? Want to talk about it? Maybe confess to any other murders while we’re at it?”

“He’s not a monster,” Selina said. “He’s done bad things, but he’s not a monster. And he’s not the only person in this room who’s killed someone.”

“That was war,” Jim said, thinking back to his time in the army.

“And in my case, it was self-defense,” Selina said.

Jim jerked his head up to stare at her. She met his gaze defiantly, but he could see the insecurity lurking below the surface.

“Selina?” he asked quietly.

“It was years ago,” she replied. “Some guy got a bit too aggressive, threatened me and Ivy. We hadn’t been doing anything, just looking for a place to sleep for the night, but he thought we’d come to cause trouble or something. He came at Ivy, and I pushed her out of the way and then…” She shrugged. “I pushed him out of the window. We didn’t stick around after that.”

Jim pushed his chair back from the table with a screech that would have the neighbours complaining and walked around the table to pull her into a hug. She clung to him, mindful of his broken rib, and drew in shaky lungfuls of air while he held her.

“I didn’t want to tell you,” Selina confessed. “I thought it might change things between us.”

“You did what you needed to, in order to survive,” Jim replied. “That’s all, and I would rather have you here with me now, than have missed out on this because of that man.”

He could picture them both, younger and more inexperienced, hardened beyond their years by life on the streets, but still scared. He knew these girls. They weren't killers by nature, but by necessity.

But what about Oswald?

“Now, didn’t someone say something about breakfast?” Jim asked to distract himself. He didn’t want to lose himself in thoughts of Oswald while Selina and Ivy were there.

“Yeah, guess I did,” Selina said. “Now… what have you got?”

By the time Ivy had finished in the bathroom, Selina had made coffee and mixed up a batch of vegan pancakes for them all, so that she didn’t have to make up a separate batch for Ivy. Jim had given up the fight to help, and sat as he was told to, occasionally touching the leaves of his mimosa plant to watch them close up.

Oswald had done the same thing when Jim had first shown him, and he’d done it every time he’d come over since. After a few drinks, when they were both pleasantly tipsy, Oswald seemed to find it equally as fascinating as he had the first time.

Jim clenched his fists and forced himself to stop. He didn’t want to think of Oswald right now.

Ivy slid into the chair next to Jim, watching his mimosa critically. “I’m glad to see it’s still alive,” she said. “Though it needs watering.”

“I’ll do it later,” Jim promised. He would have to water the orchid on the windowsill as well, and the cactus in the other room could probably do with some too.

“You’d better,” Ivy replied.

“I’m sensing distrust, Ivy, and that hurts,” Jim replied. After a pause he added, “Or maybe that’s my broken rib.” He pressed the tender area of his chest carefully. “Probably the rib.”

Ivy shoved his shoulder, more gently than she would have if he wasn’t just out of hospital. Jim laughed, then regretted it when it caused another flare of pain.

“Take your painkillers,” Selina instructed.

“I can bring by the plants from the hospital too,” Ivy said. ”They’ll help your healing.”

Jim knew enough about Ivy’s connection with plants not to argue with her. “You trust me to water them and keep them alive?”

“It’s not like you have anything else to do until you come back to work,” Ivy said, teasing.

Selina slid plates of pancakes across the table to each of them and mugs of steaming coffee.

After breakfast, Selina and Ivy went to open the shop and take care of their own business. Ivy had her greenhouses to mind, and Selina had her cats to feed as she hadn’t made any arrangements for anyone else to drop by her apartment to do it. Jim promised to do the breathing exercises as instructed by his doctor, and get some proper rest and then he was left alone with his thoughts.

He managed to keep himself distracted for a while, but after the breathing exercises were done and his plants were watered, there wasn’t much else to do.

He could sit on the sofa where he and Oswald had, if not actually fucked, then come very close to doing so, and watch TV, but that failed to grab his attention. Especially once he realised that the photo frames that had been damaged when he had fought back against Santini’s men had been replaced by Oswald — for who else could it have been? And Jim was sure he’d seen the frame surrounding the picture of himself and Oswald in Oswald’s mansion. The picture inside it had been of Oswald’s mother, the last time Jim had seen it, he was sure.

Jim got up for a closer look. At the bottom corner was a small dent Jim recognised. He sat back on the sofa with the picture, not even sure what he felt now. He wanted to be angry. Anger was safer, usually. He knew Oswald must have guessed how he would feel about replacing Jim’s photo frames with his own personal possessions. Besides, he hardly needed further reminders of the man.

Jim set the photo down on the coffee table. Everywhere he looked, he was reminded of Oswald. Part of him wished he had insisted on returning to work, regardless of the lingering dizziness he felt as a result of his blood loss, yet he knew that would be foolish. He had met Oswald for the first time in Poison Ivy, and returning there wouldn’t help to take his mind off him.

Oswald had infiltrated just about every aspect of Jim’s life. There was nowhere he could go without being reminded of him in some way, and all his thoughts of Oswald inevitably returned to the way he had killed Santini, and the way Santini had referred to Oswald — Penguin — and his links to the criminal families of Gotham.

How long had Oswald been keeping that from him? Since the start? He supposed he could understand why that wouldn’t come up in conversation, but that didn’t mean Jim liked knowing he had been deliberately kept in the dark.

Surely the smart thing to do would be to break things off with Oswald. If he was a violent criminal, how long before he turned such tendencies on Jim himself? The thought made Jim feel physically sick. Oswald wouldn’t, surely… but wasn’t that what all victims of domestic abuse thought at first?

To distract himself from that awful train of thought, Jim went to the kitchen, running through the motions of making himself a comforting cup of tea. At least, until he realised what he was doing. Tea was a comfort now, because it reminded him of Oswald. He could still picture the soft expression on his face when Jim had confessed to buying his favourite tea and why.

A sudden sob burst out of Jim before he could reign it back, abruptly overcome with emotion. He hiccupped, trying to stifle the sounds, though he didn’t quite know why. There was no one to hear him, no one to judge him for a moment of weakness or to comfort him during it.

Maybe that was the problem. He wanted Oswald there, but he still didn’t know if he could face him yet. All he had been able to think about in the hospital bed was Santini and Oswald, the way Santini had talked about him, and the way Oswald had killed him. That image was burned into his brain.

The best thing to do was obviously talk to Oswald. He could pick up the phone. If Oswald was busy, he could arrange a time to talk perhaps. Or maybe Oswald would cancel everything to talk to him right away. But talking about something like this over the phone felt wrong.

He supposed he could go to the mansion. Even if Oswald wasn’t home, he would still be welcome to wait for him.

Jim didn’t move. He stared down at the box of tea he was still clutching.

A knock sounded at his apartment door.

Jim wiped his eyes, hoping that it didn’t look as though he had just been crying, and went to answer the door. It hadn’t sounded like Oswald’s usual knock — it was gentler. It couldn't have been Ivy or Selina, because they had keys of their own and would have just let themselves in.

Jim peered through the peephole in the door, well aware that he didn't usually do that. He stepped back in surprise, then opened the door.

“Isabella?”

“Hello, Jim. I hope you don't mind me dropping by like this,” Isabella replied.

“No, not at all. It's just a surprise, that's all. Come in.” Jim stepped aside to allow her past and closed the door after her.

“You're looking well,” Isabella said. “How are you feeling?”

“Still sore, a bit dizzy, but the doctors think I'm well enough to recover at home now, at least,” Jim said. “Have a seat.”

Isabella sat at the end of the sofa, setting her handbag down on the coffee table. “Oswald bought you this, right?”

“That obvious?” Jim said dryly. “It does stand out, doesn't it?”

“You like it though?” Isabella asked, tilting her head.

Jim watched her curiously. “Yeah, I do. Did he… did Oswald send you to check up on me?” He would be annoyed if he had. Being left alone also meant not sending their mutual friends to see him.

“No, no. He doesn't know I decided to come today,” Isabella said hurriedly. “He's taking your request for space very seriously, even though…”

“Even though?”

“He misses you terribly,” Isabella replied. “And I thought perhaps you might miss him just as much.”

Jim looked away, falling silent. Of course he missed Oswald. His misery must have been written all over his face, for Isabella laid a comforting hand on his arm.

“Would you like to talk about what happened?” she asked. “I know you have Selina and Ivy to talk to, but I want you to know that I'm here for you as well.”

“I… it's hard, Isabella,” Jim confessed. “I haven't told them everything, but I don't think I need to. They know Oswald, they know what he's capable of and… I thought so too, but seeing him like that…” He took a deep breath and turned back to Isabella. “I saw him murder Santini.”

Isabella’s eyes widened. “Oh,” she gasped. “I had a feeling… but I didn't know you saw it,” she said. She lowered her gaze. “None of them told me outright what happened, but when the police couldn't find Santini, Oswald had been so determined to save you, so angry when he found out who had taken you.”

“Edward was there, too,” Jim added. “He had a gun, I think, but he watched as Oswald cut Santini’s throat.”

Isabella fell silent, absorbing this information.

“Sorry. You probably didn't want to know that,” Jim said.

Isabella shook her head. “No, it's fine. I don't know what I expected, really. They're best friends, after all, and Ed isn't a stranger to death and killing.”

They lapsed into an awkward silence. Jim wished he'd never said anything about Edward. He knew Edward and Isabella were in love, and knew that this probably wouldn't break them apart. Isabella knew that Edward had killed his last girlfriend and still stayed with him afterwards.

“Can I get you a drink?” Jim asked after a few moments. Anything to break the silence. “Coffee? Tea? Something stronger?” he added, a little wryly.

“Um. Yes, that would be nice,” replied Isabella. “I'll have whatever you're having.”

Jim nodded and went to the kitchen to find drinks. He went through the motions, trying to think of what to say when he returned to the living room. But when he returned with the drinks on a tray, Isabella broke the silence.

“That's why you need space from Oswald, isn't it?” she asked. “Because you saw him…” she trailed off.

Jim nodded. “I… I know he's killed people before. That's why he went to Arkham. But seeing it…”

Isabella sipped her drink carefully, then set it back down on the tray. “I understand. It's a shock, yes?”

“Part of me thinks telling the police would be the right thing to do, even if it would cause trouble for Oswald. But if he ends up back in Arkham, I don't think I could forgive myself,” Jim confessed in a whisper.

“And what does the rest of you say?” Isabella asked, shifting slightly closer.

Jim took a breath. “That I shouldn't betray him like that. He came for me. He saved me, saved my life. Santini didn't plan to kill me just yet, but I would only have been useful for so long, and one of his men stabbed me when I fought back… I'd have bled out, if I hadn't found Oswald when I did,” Jim said. “And even though he's a killer, even though he's still…” He paused, looked at Isabella seriously for a moment. “He's still running the mob, still involved with all of that while he's running the city as the mayor too.”

Isabella looked surprised at that, then thoughtful. “Ed helps him with that too, doesn't he?”

Jim nodded. “It's hard to see how Oswald would manage both roles without Ed’s help,” he said.

“But you were saying that even though…” Isabella prompted.

Jim smiled, or perhaps it was a grimace. He nodded. “Even though he's a criminal, even though he's a murderer and who knows what else… I still love him.”

Isabella smiled in understanding. “I know how you feel,” she said. “It's confusing, isn't it? The sensible part of you thinks you should break it off, but doing so will break your heart.”

Jim nodded again, helpless and glad that she understood. “What did you do, when you found out about Ed?” he asked.

“Well, first I looked up all the information I could find about his crimes, and about Miss Kringle,” Isabella began. “There were a lot of pictures of her. I really do look quite a bit like her, though I'm blonde and she was red-haired. And then…” she paused and blushed, then pressed on. “Then I went to find clothes she would have worn, and her shade of lipstick and dye in the shade of her hair… Ed was scared of hurting me, you see. I needed to show him that I wasn't afraid, that I trusted him not to hurt me. And once he trusted himself not to accidentally kill me…” Isabella’s blush darkened.

“I really don't think you need to continue,” Jim said, blushing himself. He really didn't want details of what his two friends got up to together. “So you looked up all you could find about Ed?”

“I did. And if it hadn't been accidental, a crime of passion, if he hadn't been so worried about hurting me in the same way he had poor Miss Kringle, then perhaps I would have left him,” Isabella admitted. “Even though I love him.”

Jim looked down at his lap, where he cradled his own mug. “Perhaps I should learn more about Oswald’s crimes. His past. I should know what I’m getting into, right?”

Isabella smiled. “That might be a good idea,” she said. “And… perhaps I should tell you what Oswald told me,” she added.

Jim frowned, confused. Oswald wasn’t in the habit of confessing things to Isabella. Though he’d tried to tolerate her more, Jim knew he still wasn’t fond of her. “What is it?”

Isabella hesitated for a moment before she spoke. “He wanted to kill me,” she said quietly. “He’d even gone so far as to plan it. He told me he was going to have Gabe cut the brake lines on my car.”

Jim sat back, speechless.

“The reason he didn’t is because you convinced him to try to be happy for Ed,” Isabella continued. “So I guess, in a way, I owe you my life.”

“Oh. I didn’t… well, I suspected,” Jim amended, thinking back to when he was first starting to get to know Oswald, before his initial attraction has developed into a crush, and then into deeper feelings. “There was a vague suspicion, at least, that he maybe wasn’t just thinking of breaking you two up. He never said anything about  _ plans _ , but I know he didn’t like you. I didn’t know he changed his mind because of me.” He looked down at his lap, shifting his grip on his mug. “What do you think I should do?” he asked quietly.

“I think you should talk to Oswald,” Isabella said. “But if you're asking if I think you should leave Oswald or stay with him, then I think you've already made up your mind.”

Jim looked up at Isabella then down at the mug of tea in his lap. Oswald’s tea. “I think you're right.”

-

The last time Jim had felt so nervous about calling at the mansion, it had been for his first date with Oswald. There was no need to be nervous though, Jim told himself. Oswald would want to see him. He had Isabella’s assurance for that.

She’d left after extracting a promise that Jim would talk to Oswald soon, but Jim had still put off visiting until later, when he knew Oswald would be home. He’d worried at first about how he might be received, but Oswald’s staff had waved him through the gates with relieved expressions on their faces and told him Oswald would likely be found in the living room.

There was no sign of Edward or Isabella when he entered the mansion, and Jim wasn’t sure if he was glad of that or not. But he continued through the perpetually darkened corridors to find Oswald.

Oswald didn’t notice Jim at first, which allowed Jim a moment to compose himself and take in the sight of his lover.

Jim had never seen Oswald sitting around in such a dishevelled state. Not unless Jim had caused that state, anyway. Gone was his jacket and tie, draped over the back of his chair. His waistcoat and the top few buttons of his shirt were undone, and his hair was a mess. A glass of whiskey sat on the table by Oswald’s elbow, almost empty, and there wasn’t much left in the decanter next to it either. Oswald stared into the fire, looking the very picture of abject misery, with dark circles under his eyes and the corners of his mouth turned down.

“Oswald,” Jim said quietly.

Oswald’s head jerked up. “Jim!” He got up, lurching across the room. He stopped just a step away from Jim. “You're here…” He looked surprised to see him, hesitating just a few brief seconds before wrapping his arms around him, embracing him tightly.

Jim flinched at the pressure on his chest, causing Oswald to draw back, eyes wide and apologetic.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t think about your… please, sit down, sit down,” he urged, leading Jim to the sofa.

“We need to talk,” Jim said quietly, once they were sat together.

Oswald tensed. “I guess we do,” he said, drawing back reluctantly. “Drink?”

Jim hesitated, considering, then nodded. “Yeah, okay. Whatever you're having.”

Oswald fetched another glass and poured some undoubtedly expensive whiskey from a crystal decanter. He passed it wordlessly to Jim. Oswald sat in the chair opposite Jim after refilling his own glass, looking like a man about to be executed.

“So where do we begin?” Oswald asked dully.

“Well, how about that part where you’re still running the mob in Gotham?” Jim said. “The part where you’re still a criminal and didn’t see fit to tell me? Were you ever going to tell me about that, or were you just going to keep me in the dark forever?”

Oswald dropped his gaze. “I didn’t intend-”

“You didn’t intend to make a fool of me? You didn’t intend to lie about who you are?” Jim interrupted when Oswald faltered.

“I didn’t want you to leave!” Oswald burst out. “I thought that if you knew, if you found out, then it would be over. And how was I supposed to bring it up anyway? Oh, by the way, I run all the organised crime in Gotham and occasionally murder people!” He finished, glaring at Jim, mouth drawn in a tight line.

“And speaking of murder, you killed Santini,” Jim said.

“Yes, we both know this. I told you, there was no other outcome for him after he hurt you,” Oswald said. “Did you think that maybe I would be sorry about it, given some time to think and reflect on my actions? Well, you were wrong.”

“You could have let the police handle him. I’m sure you’re clever enough to get out of any charges they could bring against you, based on whatever Santini could have told them,” Jim pointed out. “If you do run all the organised crime, as well as all your duties as the mayor, then I’m sure you could persuade the GCPD not to pursue any charges against you one way or another.”

“No. Never,” Oswald spat. “This was about more than just punishing him. He’s an example, to anyone else who might try to use you against me, or who thinks that you make me weak.”

Oswald reached for his whiskey and drained the glass. When he put it down he seemed, if not calmer, then more subdued. “My mother was kidnapped as leverage against me, until I tried to free her. She died in my arms, and then I killed the man responsible,” he began. “My father was poisoned, and he died in my arms and once I found out it was murder, I killed the people responsible.” Oswald slid off his chair to kneel before Jim, and it was undoubtedly uncomfortable for him to do so. He reached up hesitantly to cup Jim’s face, brushing his thumb over Jim’s cheek. “You're the first person I’ve ever managed to save, and I'll never be sorry that I killed that worthless rat in order to ensure your safety. I'd do it a million times over if I had to. You're worth everything to me. I love you.”

Jim had to close his eyes then, but he couldn't block the sight of Oswald’s tearful eyes from his mind.

Oswald’s hand dropped from Jim’s face to rest on his wrist. “Isabella told me that if you decided that you wanted to leave me, I may have to accept that, but I don't want to. I’m selfish, Jim. I want everything, and I don't like giving things up. I especially don't want to give you up. But...” Oswald hesitated, swallowed thickly against the emotions threatening to overwhelm them both. “If the alternative is watching you learn to hate me, I couldn’t stand it.”

“Oswald,” Jim said hoarsely, opening his eyes again.

Oswald let out a hiccupping sob and let Jim pull him up into his arms. Tears were flowing freely down Jim’s face too.

“I’m a monster, Jim. I kill people, and have them killed, and I’ve done so many terrible things, all because I want power and respect, and I knew that if you found out, I would lose you,” Oswald confessed, his face buried in Jim’s neck. He clung tightly to Jim, clutching his clothes in a death grip. “I remembered the way you acted after I told you Isabella knew Ed had killed people, and I knew…”

“Yes, well… let’s just say I have a better understanding of Isabella now,” Jim said, clinging just as tightly to Oswald. He ignored the pain of his still recovering injuries, not wanting to let go of Oswald. “There’s just one more thing I have to know.”

Oswald raised his head so Jim could see the red around his eyes and traces of smeared eyeliner.

“Jim?”

“On our dates — the, the real ones, not when we were pretending, though maybe those ones too… the way you’ve acted every time we’re together, the things we’ve shared — has any of that been a lie? Or is that all truly part of you, just as much as the gangster who runs all the crime in Gotham and feels no remorse over killing someone to save my life?”

Oswald’s eyes widened. “Jim, I’ve never pretended with you. Never. Please, believe me when I say I love you. I’ve never lied about that.” He looked close to tears again, face pale and voice shaking. “I know I don’t have a lot of experience with love and romance… well, I didn’t have any before you, not really. But if this isn’t love that I feel for you, then I don’t know what else to call it.” He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “I promise, nothing between us was a lie.”

Jim met Oswald’s gaze unflinchingly. There was nothing but sincerity in his gaze. Something in Jim’s chest loosened. He hadn’t even realised how afraid he was that Oswald had been stringing him along all this time, though to what end, Jim couldn’t imagine. But rather than think about it, he leaned forward to capture Oswald’s slightly parted lips with his own.

Oswald gave a small desperate noise and returned the kiss eagerly. “Jim, please tell me you’ll stay,” he gasped when they parted.

“Yes,” Jim said. “Always. I love you.”

Oswald surged forward again, closing the small distance between them. Jim willingly let himself be pushed back against the sofa as Oswald climbed on top, his only participation being to help Oswald settle his bad leg comfortably.

“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you,” Oswald mumbled.

“You don’t have to find out,” Jim replied. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He felt hot tears against his neck again.

“Why?” asked Oswald, so quietly that Jim wasn’t sure he’d spoken at all.

“Isabella came to visit,” Jim said. “She helped me realise a few things.”

Oswald huffed. “That woman,” he muttered. “At this rate, I’m going to have to admit to her being a friend.”

Jim laughed quietly. “That would be no bad thing.”

“No, I suppose not,” Oswald admitted quietly.

He shifted against Jim until they were lying more comfortably on the sofa. Jim made sure Oswald was lying against his good side, not putting pressure on his broken rib or the healing knife wound.

“Jim, will you… will you stay tonight?” Oswald asked hesitantly. “We don’t have to do anything,” he added. “I’d be happy just to sleep beside you.”

“It's fine,” Jim replied. “I'll stay. I don't think I'm up to anything more strenuous than sleeping, though, and the doctors were pretty strict about me taking it easy while my rib heals.”

Oswald pushed himself up, looking alarmed. “Oh, I keep forgetting - I'm not hurting you like this, am I?”

“I'm sore anyway, but you were fine where you were,” Jim replied.  He pulled Oswald back down and maneuvered him back into position.

Oswald smiled against his chest and snuggled closer. “I didn't think I would have this again,” he said. “I should find a way to thank Isabella. You'll have to help me pick out appropriate flowers.”

“Okay,” Jim said, smiling softly.

They still had things to talk about, and things wouldn't ever be the same as they had been when Jim had been living in blissful ignorance of the hidden sides of Oswald’s life, but right now, Jim felt that the rest of it could wait.

When Oswald started yawning and falling asleep on Jim, they made their way upstairs to bed. They readied for bed, Oswald changing into a set of pyjamas and Jim stripping down to his boxers. They slid into Oswald’s large bed just as they had dozens of times before, meeting in the middle so Oswald could cuddle closer.

It had surprised Jim at first, how Oswald loved being cuddled. He was much more restrained in front of other people, but once in bed, he seemed to crave all physical contact, and cuddling up to Jim with his head on Jim’s chest was his favourite position. He was more cautious now, mindful of Jim’s injuries, but Jim didn’t miss the way Oswald’s hand slid over his skin to rest delicately over Jim’s heart.

Jim grasped Oswald’s hand gently, and though he’d wanted to stay awake longer, was soon fast asleep in his lover’s arms.

-

Oswald had tried to stay awake as long as he could, watching Jim sleep as though the other man would fade away if he took his eyes off him for too long. He still didn’t understand why Jim had chosen to stay with him. He had been so certain that Jim finding out would be the end of their relationship, further cemented by Santini’s mocking words.

But now Jim was here, in his bed and it was almost as though nothing had happened. Jim still slept as soundly as he ever had beside Oswald, and part of him marvelled at the trust that displayed.

Quite without meaning to, Oswald had drifted off, savouring Jim’s warmth.

When he awoke the next morning, it was to an empty bed. Oswald’s breath caught for a moment — had he dreamt of Jim’s visit the night before? — but a faint sound behind him caught his attention. He rolled over to find Jim standing by the window, wearing one of Oswald’s robes and cradling a steaming cup of coffee.

“Good morning,” Jim said, noticing that Oswald was awake. “There’s tea by the bed for you.”

“Thanks,” Oswald said. He slid out of bed, ignoring the drink for now. “What are you looking at out there?”

Jim set his drink down on the windowsill and pulled Oswald into his arms once he was within reach. He dipped his head for a kiss, which Oswald gave obligingly. “I was looking at your garden,” Jim said.

“What about it?”

“I think you need some snapdragons planted out there,” Jim said.

“Snapdragons?” Oswald asked, confused and also amused. “What do they mean?” Because Jim would never suggest flowers like this without a meaning behind them.

“They have several meanings,” Jim said. “They’re used to indicate deception, capriciousness, graciousness, presumption and strength, but mainly it’s the ‘you are dazzling but dangerous’ meaning that makes me think of you.”

Oswald looked out of the window, over his gardens. He hadn’t bothered with them much, trusting the gardener to take care of them properly. “Snapdragons. I’ll have a word with the gardener to find the best place for them,” Oswald replied, smiling.

“You know, it occurs to me that I didn’t say thank you yet,” Jim said suddenly.

“What?” Oswald looked at him in confusion.

“You came to save me,” Jim said.

“Of course I did,” Oswald replied. “I would never have left you. You know that, right?”

“I know. I just need to say that I’m glad you came for me, that you rescued me.” Jim smirked slightly. “I guess that makes you my hero, though you’re an unconventional one.”

Oswald blushed. He hadn’t thought of it like that at all. “Jim, I love you, but I think you’re pushing this a little too far,” he said, aiming for anger to cover his embarrassment, though he only managed to sound mildly irritated.

Jim, damn him, saw through it completely. “Just wait until the doctor gives me the all-clear. Then you’ll see how far I’m willing to push this,” he murmured against Oswald’s ear.

The sensation sent shivers down Oswald’s spine. Suddenly, he couldn’t wait for Jim to be fully healed. “How long did the doctors say?”

“Six weeks,” Jim replied. “That’s for the rib. Everything else should heal in the meantime.”

“It’s going to be a long six weeks,” Oswald replied.

Jim sighed. “It really is.”

Oswald let himself be pulled closer. “Don’t worry. I’m sure the wait will be worth it,” he said, teasing. For the first time since learning of Jim’s abduction, he felt happy, and as he watched the morning sun rise over his garden with Jim, he felt hopeful too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've reached the end of Snapdragon! Thank you to all who have made it this far. This won't be the end of the series, I do have much more planned for this AU. For now though, I'm taking a break to work on a couple other Gobblepot fics, which I hope to have done soon. :) About the only good thing about losing my job last week is that I have more time to write (theoretically, anyway).
> 
> Hit me up at [emmageddon](http://http://emmageddon.tumblr.com/) over on tumblr is you like.

**Author's Note:**

> When I went searching for an antagonist to use for this fic, I came across a reference to Rafael Santini [here](http://dc.wikia.com/wiki/Rafael_Santini_\(New_Earth\)). I admit that I haven't read the comics, but he seemed a good fit. I'm not sure where Butch, Barbara and Tabitha fit in this AU yet but I'd like to include them somehow.
> 
> I'm on tumblr at [Emmageddon](http://emmageddon.tumblr.com) if anyone wants to come say hi.


End file.
